My Big Fat Weasley Wedding
by DragonMystics
Summary: Here comes the bride! Hermione and Ron are getting married... and, of course, chaos ensues.
1. Mission: Impossible

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: Here comes the bride! Hermione and Ron are getting married… and chaos ensues! Rated for language and upcoming slash, drunkenness, and thievery. This takes place assuming, of course, that Sirius is alive and well (because how can you have a wedding without Sirius?) and pardoned. Have an open mind.

A/N – This is a joint fic between myself – mysticVigil – and DragonMistress, so if you like it, check out our personal alias'. Please review!

**My Big Fat Weasley Wedding**

_"__Mission__: Impossible"_

Ronald Weasley paced in front of his friends, hands behind his back, doubtfulness etched into his features. "So you think it's stupid? Or crazy? Or-"

"Both," Seamus Finnigan put in promptly.

"Seamus!"

"Sorry, Harry, mate but Seamus is right. I think Ron right here's lost his marbles." Dean Thomas shook his head sadly.

He's a few bricks short of a load," Seamus added.

"Not the sharpest bulb in the box." That stopped everyone for a moment, but Seamus continued.

"The cheese has slipped off the cracker."

"He's a couple beers short of a six pack."

"He-"

"Okay, we get it!" Harry laid a hand on Ron's back; Ron just groaned and sank into a chair.

"Well, he did ask us what we thought." Seamus shrugged and held up his hands defensively. "I mean, the idea itself isn't so bad… marrying Hermione 'n all… but who needs feckin' _marriage_?"

"You're marrying Ginny," Harry pointed out.

Seamus grinned sheepishly. "She's a total babe, Harry! She's different!"

Ron managed to peep through his fingers. "So's Hermione," he mumbled.

"Nah!" Dean shook his head. "All women are the same. They hog the blankets when you sleep-"

Piping up, Seamus continued, "They always ask you 'does this make me look fat?' and complain when you say it does-"

Harry groaned and Dean picked up, "They leave hair in the drain all the time, long massive strands that look like something died-"

"This is the _last_ girl you'll _ever_ sleep with-"

"She's the _only_ girl I'll ever sleep with!" Seamus looked horrified; Dean shook his head.

"You'll get a _mother-in-law-_" Everyone shuddered.

"Their 'time-of-the-month' can drive you _crazy_!"

"They watch horrible soaps on the telly."

"Only the Muggle ones!" Harry protested.

Seamus shared a look with Dean. "Aye, but Hermione lived like a Muggle for ten years."

"Good point."

Ron, who had turned quite pale, shook his head. "If everything just gets that bad… well, I can't take it!"

Seamus and Dean smirked; Harry shook his head, frustrated. "You guys!"

From the back of the room, a quiet, nervous voice spoke up. "I think marriage is a great idea. Hermione's lovely."

"Thank you, Neville." Seamus and Dean groaned, but Neville continued.

"She's smart and nice; Hermione's beautiful. She can cook – I think – she knows every spell to make a house clean… she'll be in a top spot at the Ministry soon, and you love her, Ron. I think it's perfect!"

Ron, who had been looking peaky, smiled. "You know, you're right, Neville! S'long as I love her, well, that's what really matters!"

Seamus narrowed his eyes, but shrugged. "It's your funeral, mate."

Ron eyed the sandy-haired boy suspiciously but began, "I'll ask her tomorrow, after I get the ring…"

"No!" Neville squeaked. "You need to ask her father first! It's the proper thing to do," he added quickly.

Ron sat back down again. "I've never met Mr. Granger. What do I expect?"

"He'll hate you!"

"Seamus!" Harry glared at him; Ron looked stricken.

Dean nodded. "No, Harry, you've never had a real girlfriend. It's true, what Seamus says. Mr. Granger _will_ hate Ron, because he thinks that Hermione's too good for him." Neville listened interestedly, but Harry pretended not to care.

"You have to butter them up to make 'em like you," Seamus put in, excited. "Compliment him _and_ Mrs. Granger-"

"-the shoes, Ron, say the shoes are nice-"

"-let them know that you highly respect them as parents-"

"-at least twice, or the technique is lost-"

"-and whatever you do, _don't_ give them the impression that you've done anything more than kiss her!" Seamus warned gravely.

Ron paled and Neville patted his knee.

"Now that one's important, don't forget it." Dean smiled. "And remember, be polite, well-dressed, courteous, and don't be nervous."

"It isn't a job interview, guys," Harry said on Ron's behalf.

"So what do I do, just say 'Mr. Granger, I want to marry your daughter because I love her?'" Ron sought confirmation; Dean and Seamus made to say something, but Harry clapped his hands over their mouths.

"Sounds perfect!" Neville agreed.

Ron jumped up nervously. "Wish me luck, mates!" He was met with blank stares but smiled bravely. "Right then…."

When Ron was halfway out the door Seamus couldn't hold himself back. "Married men become fathers!" Ron turned white as a ghost, but didn't stop.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Neville asked when Ron was out of earshot.

Even Harry agreed.

_-_

Ron looked at the paper he held in his hand: 1389 Wheeler Avenue, written in his own scrawling, loopy script. He checked the mailbox he stood beside: 1389.

He checked the paper again. Maybe 1389 wasn't right. Maybe Hermione really lived at 1889 – or 1388; that made more sense. Hermione really lived in a simple house, American log-cabin style, with the shutters peeling and a crooked mailbox. He shook his head; he just needed to learn nicer script; that was it!

With a chuckle, Ron knocked on the door and stood on the ancient, crumbling front steps. He smiled when a white-haired woman wearing tiny spectacles opened the door.

Wait: that wasn't right. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't _think_ Hermione's mum was in her 70's. "Mrs. Granger?"

The woman laughed. "Oh my, no! The Grangers live across the street, dear!"

Ron didn't return her smile. "Are you sure?" he asked, puzzled.

The woman narrowed her eyes and called, "Herman! Will you come here for a minute?"

A stooped man with a walker appeared by the old lady. "What is it?" Ron knew he had never heard this croaky voice before.

"I- I'm looking for the Grangers…?" he began uncertainly, but the man cut him off.

"Across the street, Sonny!" and Ron was left with his original problem: Hermione never mentioned she lived in a mansion.

Ron sighed; maybe he was on the wrong street. Maybe he was being directed to the wrong Grangers. Nevertheless he started up the long walk – and stopped when he found his entrance being barred by a wrought-iron gate. There was a little box attached, and he couldn't imagine what a box would be doing attached to a front gate; and he began to wonder why anyone in their right mind would attach a box with no foreseeable purpose, and then got to wondering what if the Grangers weren't in their right minds and he was making a big mistake seeing them about Hermione because Hermione really was insane—

"Good evening, Grangers' residence. How may I help you?" Ron stared around for the disembodied voice, bewildered.

"Hello? Hello?" He tapped the little box thoughtfully and stepped back when it started to speak.

"Hello?" came a woman's tinny voice. "Could you speak a little louder? State your name."

He took a deep breath. "_Ronald__Weasley_" he shouted.

Another voice laughed. "It's that boyfriend of Hermione's. Ronald, dear," –the new voice was addressing him- "Hermione's not here right now. She's shopping."

Ron paused a moment to ponder how these voices fit inside the little box – if that's where they were coming from – and spoke back in a measured voice, as if speaking to a three-year-old, "I'd… like… to… speak… to… Mr.…and… Mrs.… Granger!"

There was a voice on the other end, puzzled; "Why… of course, dear… come up the walk…." Ron stood, for a moment, with his brow furrowed, staring fixatedly at the little black box, as if willing it to speak again…

…and the door in front of him swung open. Magic! For a moment Ron just stood there uncertainly, waiting for a signal or _something_… then he started up the walk, taking in his surroundings.

The lawn… manicured, probably – and if the Grangers were wizards he was sure there wouldn't have been a gnome around anywhere. His mother would have died if she had their gardens – not a weed in sight! And the house… it was just yard after yard of black shingle interrupted occasionally by big bay windows.

Once on the stoop he knocked on the door. There was a little button by it, and he pressed it, amazed when it blared something that sounded like Beethoven's Fifth Symphony that Percy always used to listen to on dad's old Muggle radio. "Hold on, I'm coming-" and Ron had only a second to ponder just _why_ Hermione had never told him about all this… before the door was flung open.

He had seen Mrs. Granger once, but had never actually spoken to her – that time she had seemed nervous and uncomfortable. But now she was in her element… though Ron had to admit to himself that he wasn't ready for her pearls or stiletto heels. (Who _wore_ those? _Indoors_, too. It was like the Stepford Wives or something.) "Oh, you must be Ronald, dear!" she remarked in a sugary-sweet voice, her curly brown hair bouncing as she bent to kiss his cheek. "How wonderful!"

He blanched.

Ron stood like a deer caught in headlights. Finally he settled for, "Mrs. Granger – h'lo – nice shoes," remembering Seamus warning – er – advice.

Mrs. Granger's perfectly tweezed brows collided for a moment before she spoke – almost as though worried for Ron's sanity. "Call me Lovey, dear… Thurston! Visitor!"

Lovey? Thurston?

_Dear_?

Ron stood a moment, fidgeting and biting his lip, before a big bald man bearing the shocking resemblance to Mr. Clean, minus the earring, appeared and almost crushed Ron's fingers in a monster handshake. "Ronald!" he announced, his voice booming.

Ron was seriously beginning to have second thoughts about having Thurston and Lovey as in-laws.

"Mr. Granger – er – hi…" he squeaked nervously.

There was a pause, and Lovey started up again. "Ron, lovely, it's ever so wonderful to finally meet you, my, my, Hermione's told us so much, we never thought she'd let you out for us to see, it's just grand…."

Ron's mind was on rewind. What was Seamus' second piece of advice? Right – compliment them. Well, he could do that!

"It's great to meet you too!" Ron said enthusiastically. "I'm sure you're the greatest, most hard-working parents ever," he added as an afterthought. _Take that, __Seamus__. I used the parenting technique just fine!_

The Grangers exchanged a Look. "Right… Ron, this is great, but Thurston has a business meeting in a little while, and I'm sure you had something to ask, so if we could move into the living room…."

Damn – they saw right to the hidden agenda, and Lovey was dropping her "pleased-to-meet-you" air. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Okay." Ron squirmed.

Lovey led the way, her heels click-clacking the whole time, and Thurston propelling Ron, a giant hand on his shoulder. Ron gulped as he sunk into an over-stuffed leather chair – how much had this stuff _cost_? – and Lovey and Thurston gazed at him beadily. He cleared his throat. Repeatedly.

"Mr. and – Thurston. Lovey. Erm-"

Thurston interrupted him. "Ron, you're so tense! Would you like a drink? We have a great wine selection."

Ron's eyes widened. He was sure this was a "NO" under Seamus' list entitled 'Things to do when meeting potential in-laws.' "Er – thank you, but no."

Lovey grinned and put a hand on his arm. "We insist."

How had Hermione emerged from this household so _normal_? _How_? Her parents were _creepy_! Thurston smiled down at Ron, his big white teeth blaring… this guy scared him. Scared him as in 'wet-his-pants-afraid' kind of scaring. "Ronald! How can you say no to a good wine?"

"Er – er-" He was caving; it was so much easier just to agree. After all, how much could one glass matter? Never mind that he wasn't old enough to legally drink: after all, Fred and George had been bumming street beers for years. "All right then."

"Excellent." Thurston smiled again, reaching for his best wine, set behind the couch.

Ron knew he was going to regret this.

_-_

Ron laughed. Those Grangers sure were nice people once you got to know them! Thurston was great – told some jokes, good ones – and Lovey was pretty and witty… after the first few minutes, in which Ron had taken nervous gulps of his wine, talking had seemed to come so naturally, he noted, as he set down his sixth glass.

…but he wasn't drunk, no sir, not Ron!

However, things really _were_ a bit woozy… Lovey had all this fuzz about her outline, and Mr. Granger sounded awfully far away when he clapped Ron on the shoulder and said, "Well, Ronald, it's been nice talking with you, but I have a business meeting I have to attend… dentists hate to be kept waiting you know."

Ron sat up, suddenly attentive: God, did his head ever hurt. But he had something he needed to ask… if he could remember it, anyway….

"Wait, Mr. Granger, I-…." He trailed off. Being smashed sucked.

Lovey and Thurston exchanged that Look again. "Okay, Ron, go ahead, dear," Lovey started in a voice that meant "cut-to-the-chase".

"Okay, well, I wanted to ask…." What _had_ he wanted to ask? Why was he sitting in the Grangers' living room… "Oh yeah. Well, I wanted to know if it would be all right with you if I – er – umm… married your daughter, what's her name? Wait, it's coming to mind: H- Hur- Hermione, that's it!"

For a few seconds it was silent, save the pounding of his head, and Thurston looked at Ron skeptically. Then—-

"Ronald, is Hermione pregnant?"

Bugger! Seamus' voice intoned in Ron's already pounding head – _'…whatever you do, _don't_ give them the impression that you've done anything more than kiss her!' _Well, he blew that one… what was it he had said that – oh, yeah. _"It was great going down to that cottage last Christmas, you know, bloody wonderful, and she's a good dancer, that one, did more'n dance, ha ha…." _Stupid, _stupid_ Ron! Seamus' advice list was oh-for-three – oh, well – time to take matters into his own hands.

He sat up, ready to ensure that, no, she wasn't pregnant, not that he was aware of – and slumped down in his seat. "No – er… I don't… don't _think_ so…."

Thurston helped Ron to his feet. "Ronald, I think you had better get home… do you need a ride, or…?"

"No, no, I can – can Apparate, er, Burrow too far away for Muggles…." Mr. Granger looked bewildered and Lovey followed at a distance as he led Ron to the front door.

"Very well, then… I'm sure we'll see each other again sometime," he added, in a voice that meant he _hoped_ the opposite. "Good meeting you."

"Yes, yes… so…" Ron leaned against the door and blurted out in a would-be casual voice, "Can I marry Hermione, then?"

Lovey looked like that was the last thing in the world she wanted, but Thurston just nodded and replied, "Sure, sure, but you need to be getting home…" and, under his breath, to his wife, "…he's not going to remember anything I said anyway, kid's too drunk…."

"…thanks…" Ron replied weakly.

And with that, Mr. Granger's best wine came up, splashing the front walk.

_- _

_Standing atop the highest hill in __Britain__, moonlight glinted off Hermione's hair and made her seem somehow surreal, a goddess of light.__ Ron, down on one knee, glanced up at her and watched a smile play across her face. "Hermione, sweet love, will you do me the pleasure of having you for my bride?" He waited, transfixed by her gaze._

_"Yes! Of course I will marry you, dearest __Ronald__!" With a sigh of happiness, she slipped the 14-carot gold engagement ring on her finger and together they melted in a kiss of utter perfection._

At least, that's how it happened in his dreams.

With a groan of frustration, Ron hit his head against the front pane at the Burrow over and over – clunk, clunk, clunk. "Gin-_ny_," he whined, forehead pressed flat against the window, "Why can't anything ever be _easy_? And _perfect_? Why is it always so _ha-ard_?" His breath fogged up the glass; on the outside rain was streaming torrents.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You want to marry your total opposite. You have to expect things to go wrong."

"But how does the _rain_ know that?" Ginny furrowed her brow.

"What're you talking about?"

He groaned again. "When Seamus asked you to marry him, it was beautiful out, right? The sun was shining; the bees were buzzing, and all that happy crap?"

She squinted at him. "Ye-eah…. but so what?"

"Well, he had perfect weather! I have all this stupid _rain_! How am I ever supposed to take Hermione to a huge hill with the full moon shining above us?"

"Ron, full moon was _last_ week."

In response, Ron kicked the wall. "Damn!"

Ginny grinned and ran a hand through her thick red hair. "Ron, it doesn't have to be perfect, you know. This is _Hermione_ we're talking about: the girl you've known you were going to marry practically forever. She'll say yes no matter what."

"No matter what?" He cocked his head, cheek now squashed against the glass.

Ginny giggled. "Right, silly. No matter what." She reached out to tousle his hair, but he just sighed again.

"I still wish I had more than this dinky ring to give her. I wanted to do, like," he paused, "14-carot gold, or something."

Ginny shook head and repressed a laugh. "Ronald Weasley, you _can't_ be serious."

"I am! Her family expects the best for her; they're rich, you know."

Ginny squeezed his knee. "Yes, I do, but _you_ didn't know she was until yesterday. She's not the kind of person to care about money. I'm sure she'll like this one anyway. It was our great-great-grandmother's."

"If it means that much, then why am I the _sixth_ Weasley son to pass it on?"

Ginny ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "Bill and Fleur eloped; Charlie likes glamour; Percy was out of favour with Mum and Dad when he married Penny; Fred and Angelina exchanged _onion rings_, and George isn't married. That leaves you."

Ron shrugged. "I guess."

"Ron, the ring's beautiful, the weather will let up soon, in twenty-four hours you'll be engaged to Hermione – plus, _she's at the door_. Get out of this mood you're in!" Exasperatedly, she got up to let Hermione in from the rain.

Ron, blushing a beet red, checked himself up and down. Good – he remembered his pants this time. It had been mortifying for Hermione to see him in his boxers. "Hermione!" he squeaked when she entered the room, frizzy hair dripping on the wood floor.

She smiled as he came around to give her a quick kiss; Ginny had a fondness for hitting Ron upside the head with things that were big and heavy whenever she felt they were too passionate in her vicinity. Hermione took his hand as Ginny beamed approval.

"Er – you look nice," Ron commented. Hermione blushed red as he looked her up and down.

"Thanks, I knew you liked this top, I mean, Ginny said blue was my colour, and- Ronald Weasley, why are you so nervous?"

Sweating, Ron wiped his free palm on his pants, and Ginny hit her forehead with her hand. "Er – I'm n-not… _nervous_…." Ron stuttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pried her hand away from his; standing to face him, she touched a spot at his collar. "You buttoned wrong again. And you're squeaking."

Ron looked down at his chest: damn his nervous habits! "I thought I – er – did something wrong."

Smiling, Hermione sighed and started to re-button his shirt; Ginny thoughtfully looked away. "Why should you be nervous? It's only me."

"Right then, why _should_ I be nervous? Thanks for clearing that up for me!" Hermione looked bewildered, and Ginny hissed under her breath, "Smooth move, Romeo."

"Ron, sometimes you can be _so_ weird," Hermione declared, taking his hands and putting her nose against his. "But I love you anyway."

Ron wrinkled his nose and cooed, "I think you're terrific too," before leaning in for another kiss. This definitely qualified for a 'sickening moment' and Ginny opted to whack Ron in the back of his head and push the two out the door.

"Have fun!" she yelled after them, shutting the door and leaning against it. Sometimes she really didn't understand her brother. He was so dense and stupid and… _cute_, all at the same time. It was a miracle anyone _could_ love him, let alone want to _marry_ him.

Ginny only had a moment to reflect before she spied a small square box sitting on the windowsill.

At this rate, marriage would be a cinch, if only he could get through the proposal.

_-_

Ron looked down at Hermione as she squeezed his hand across the table. The ring was in his pocket (after Ginny had rushed out to catch him before they Apparated, muttering some excuse about how his fly was broken and stuffing the little box containing one pearl-and-gold engagement ring in his pocket, leaving Hermione confused in their wake); Italian music was playing softly in the background, and candles were glittering on the tablecloth. Everything was perfect, if not more so than he had imagined.

Ron was just extremely nervous.

He closed his eyes once and took a deep breath. When he opened them Hermione was staring at him, concerned. "Ron… are you all right? I knew this Italian food would be bad for you, you always end up having stomach pains, next time we'll go out for Mexican, I promise, we can go now if you want, and you can lie down, it'll settle-"

"No, no!" he interrupted. She couldn't go home this _early_! How else would he be able to propose? And if he didn't do it now, he would never do it….

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ron, really…." Now several of the patrons were sneaking hidden looks at them.

He was sweating again; sweating led to panicking. He blamed his abnormal pituitary gland. "No," he squeaked, "I- I just- it's ok…." He supposed he was turning green too. Why was the idea of proposal making him _sick_? And _now_ people were openly staring.

"Ron?" In the candlelight, she looked beautiful; he looked pale and peaky. "I can pay for the check, we can-" Damn! She was getting up from her seat, folding her napkin onto the table. Ron practically threw himself across the white cloth and pushed her into the plush velvet.

Double damn! Now there was tomato sauce on the front of his shirt that Bill had starched for him especially for this occasion; Bill was going to _kill_ him!

"Hermione, I- I have something to ask you- it's rather important- and if you'll give me a minute…."

Perplexed and suspicious Hermione nodded slowly. "Sure, I just-"

"No, wait, one second, don't say anything, okay?" Unfortunately, Ron had just noticed the entire restaurant was staring at him, all interested and grinning hugely. That in itself was enough to ruffle a guy.

He took a deep breath and situated himself on one knee, staring at the carpet; he was sweating glasses, buckets even, and had just realized the pants he was wearing didn't give him quite _enough_ leeway for one knee up, one knee down, like he had seen in the movies. When he heard the inseam rip, he was sure his face was as red as… well, he wasn't sure what. But it _had_ to be redder than the standard tomato; that much was clear.

"Herk- Huck-" He cleared his throat and started over, bringing his eyes to meet Hermione's. He was startled to find they were filled with tears. "Hermione… I- I wanted to know…."

His stomach was one big, massive knot, and he knew he wasn't looking as suave and debonair as he had originally planned. Then again, nothing was going as planned; this he blamed on the rain. Stupid, stupid rain and stupid, stupid candles that made him look as if he were some moving wax sculpture.

"Ron?" She was breathless. Score one for the Ron-ster!

Okay: this was it. The moment he was waiting for. Everyone was watching; he could do this. After all, he wasn't in Gryffindor for nothing….

"Hermionewillyoumarryme?" He blurted in a rush. For a second she looked puzzled and he was all too sure she hadn't understood him. He was ready to start again when –

"No! No Ronald Weasley, _no_!"

Hermione rushed off, leaving Ron stunned and disbelieving, while the rest of the patrons sat in mid-clap, waiting for the 'yes' they didn't hear.

_-_

Ron's mouth was hanging open, and he was dumbstruck. This wasn't the way things were supposed to happen: Hermione was supposed to say _yes_! Dammit, Seamus and Dean hadn't prepped him for _this_. Now what was he supposed to do?

"Go after her, numbskull," some guy to his right hissed. Ron sat back on his heels for a moment; yes, yes, that would do. He would go _after her_!

Only one problem. Hermione had found refuge in literal no-man's land – the ladies' room.

At that moment Ron cursed himself for being born with a penis.

He sighed; well, he _had_ to follow her, no doubt about it. He'd just wait outside the door, casual as you could be, and talk to her through the crack. That wasn't stalking, was it? Or peeping? Nah… it couldn't be that bad… because that was illegal, and Ron wasn't going to spend the night sitting in a jail cell, waiting for Ginny to bail him out.

No. He was _going_ to go after Hermione.

Easier said than done.

He took a deep breath and sighed, then took a deep breath again. This was serious. This was Hermione. This was Hermione, being serious… and he wasn't going to chicken out. Without a second thought, Ron strode up to the door and knocked briskly, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of ripped pants and being stared at.

"Ron, I know it's you, so go away!"

Strike one. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Hermione-"

He was interrupted by a sharp tap on his shoulder. "Excuse me, young man, but I need to use the loo, if you don't mind." Okay, the lady was old, and nice enough, but he had business to be taken care of too.

"Hold on a minute." The woman narrowed her eyes as he started again. "Hermione, look, it's ok, I just want to know why-"

"I don't feel like talking about it." She sniffled. Strike two: he had made her cry.

The old woman tapped her foot behind him. "Sir, I'd like to-"

"And I'd like to talk to my girlfriend in peace, if you don't mind!" he snapped. Turning back to the door he trained his voice to be calmer, nicer… "Hermione, will you just tell me?"

"I said _no_!"

"Dammit Hermione, _tell me_!"

"_No!_"

He was losing patience: "If you don't tell me right now, I'm going to break down this door and-"

Look, Sonny, leave the poor girl alone and get out of my way, I have to take a piss!" Okay… so that old lady wasn't as feeble as she looked.

Ron turned around. Testily, he began, "Look, Granny, I don't have _time_ for this right now, so you're going to have to shove off and-"

"Is that _my_ grandmother you're talking to like that?" Ron sighed: he didn't have time for this guy, whose neck was about the size of his index finger. As he rolled his eyes, the guy began his tirade again. "Because I don't appreciate how you speak to her, and she has intestinal issues, you know, it's not very nice to deprive her of the bathroom."

"Whatever." Ron turned back to the door.

"Look, my grandmother deserves an apology, you weren't very nice to her…"

Ron rolled his eyes.

"…you asshole."

Well, that was that. No one called Ron an asshole, especially when Hermione was sobbing in a ladies' room.

He'd pay.

_-_

Ron held his cloak held over his head, shielding himself from the blinding rain; Hermione kept herself relatively dry with her own; they were each in their own worlds.

Their footsteps click-clicked as they made their way down the cobbled main street of Ottery St. Catchpole, back toward Ron's house, Ron's pockets considerably lighter with the absence of his Muggle money. Dinner had cost him a lot more than he bargained for, especially with the extra-large tip he had to give to make sure the Muggle authorities weren't called on him. Okay, so maybe it hadn't been the _smartest_ thing he'd ever done, hit the guy in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but he was _so_ confused about everything lately… nothing was making as much sense as it did only a couple hours ago….

He needed answers.

"Hermione Granger, I can't believe you won't marry me!" He faced her; Hermione's face was blotchy and streaked with tears, but he made no move to wipe her cheeks. "Well?" he demanded, hands now of her shoulders, staring her down. "_Why_ won't you marry me?"

She looked down at the ground and brushed his hands away. "I told you," she began evenly, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Bull-_shit_!" Hermione looked up, but it was his turn to look away. "I went through _hell_ for this – I asked your parents' permission to-"

Her eyes narrowed. "You went behind my back and saw my parents?" she interrupted angrily.

But Ron was on a roll. "_Yes_, I saw your parents, and at great personal risk too, I swear they're both insane, your _father_ got me drunk, I tried to refuse, but no-o-o, it was 'be a sport Ronald, it's _wine_'-"

"I can't believe you saw my parents about this!" This time she sounded awed.

"Yeah," he began slowly, peering at her from in-between raindrops that were falling steadily. "Yeah, Neville said that if a were a real gentleman I would ask your parents for permission first, and all that jazz, it's supposed to be the best thing to do-"

Excitedly, Hermione brushed some hair from her forehead and took a step closer to him; Ron could see tears building in her eyes. "You asked them and they said yes?"

"Of course they said yes!" Exasperated, Ron threw his hands in the air. Hermione sniffed. "Aw, Hermione, come on, don't cry…."

It was too late. Her tears blended in with the raindrops that continued to fall all around them. "I can't believe you asked them if you could marry me and they said _yes_!" she sobbed.

Bewildered, Ron wrapped his arms around her awkwardly. "Come on now, I'm not _that_ bad – they didn't hate me, you know."

"It's not that," she sniffled into his cloak. Damn, now he'd need his mum to clean it.

"Then what- oh Hermione, if you were afraid they'd say no, or wouldn't approve-" Hermione shook her bushy head 'no' but Ron just continued, "you didn't have to worry, if they said no we could always wait 'till they approved, no big deal, I love you and-"

Hermione gave a little involuntary gasp and pulled away from him. "What did you say?"

He looked down at her, arms still around her waist. "I said, I love you-"

Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and mumbled into his shoulder, "I'll marry you, of course I will!"

He supposed he should be happy, but all her felt was perplexed. "Why the sudden change?"

Hermione pulled away, looked up at him with eyes he had never seen: vulnerable, lay-her-life-on-the-line eyes. "Ron," she started softy, hands on his chest, "do you realize this is the first time you've _ever_ told me you loved me?"

He furrowed his brown and bit his lip. "Er – no…."

"Well, it is! The first time you've ever said that to me, I mean." She hugged him tightly again.

He put his arms around her, confused. "You mean all it would have taken for you to say yes was me saying that I love you?"

"Yes!" She looked up at him and smiled. "That's all I ever wanted."

Ron broke into a grin and spun her around, droplets that had been clinging to her hair flying. "Then I love you, I love you, a thousand times I love you!" Hermione laughed, and he pulled her close for a kiss.

Yes, indeed. This was exactly what he had imagined.

_Upcoming attractions…._

**Ch/2: The Blob** – The Weasley's throw an engagement party for Hermione and Ron, while Sirius insists on making dessert. Then Hermione and Ron, with Harry's help, go… house-hunting!


	2. The Blob

A/N – Yay, we posted! Sorry for the wait, but chapter 3 should be out sometime soon. Thanks for being patient, and don't forget to review!

_"The Blob"_

"They're here, they're here!" Ginny called as she ran to answer the door, her long red hair flying.

"Our first guests! Who is it?" Hermione called back from the living room, where she was fussing with Ron's bangs.

"Harry, Sirius, and Remus!" Ginny called back, wrenching open the door and beaming at the three men standing on the Burrow's front porch. "Hi!" she said brightly. "Come on in!" She tilted up her cheek and allowed the trio to give her a kiss each as they entered.

"All righty, Ginny, where do I put this?" Sirius said, holding out a dish covered with aluminum foil.

"Ooooh, what is it?" Ginny asked eagerly, tweaking a corner of the foil as she led Sirius to the ancient icebox the Weasleys used in place of a refrigerator.

Sirius slapped her hand away gently, chuckling. "It's a surprise."

"Did Remus make it?"

"No, I did!" the ebony-haired man responded proudly.

The redhead raised her eyebrows. "Are you seri - uhh, telling the truth?"

With a pout, Sirius turned imploringly to his lover. "Remmie!"

"Sirius made it himself, Ginny," Remus admitted, patting Sirius on the head. "Do stop whining, Siri, let's go find Hermione and Ron."

The over excitable Animagus bounded into the living room, where Hermione was just being hugged by Harry.

"Congratulations, Ron, mate," Sirius said cheerfully, clapping Ron on the shoulder.

Ron smiled weakly. "Thanks, Sirius - no kisses!" he cried as Sirius leaned over just for that purpose.

Sirius tossed his hair with a huff. "'Mione doesn't mind my kisses, do you, dear?" he asked the bride-to-be.

"Not at all," Hermione giggled as he pulled her into a tight hug.

The doorbell rang as Ron was shaking hands with Remus. "I'll get it!" Harry said helpfully, and hurried to the door.

It was Seamus, Neville, and Dean, followed closely by Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown (both of whom were looking at the Weasleys' front yard and house with expressions of mingled disgust and wariness).

"Hey, Harry," Seamus said.

"Hi, all," Harry said cheerfully, holding the door open for them. "C'mon in, everyone's in the living room."

He had just closed the door when three loud pop noises announced the arrival of Fred and George, accompanied by Fred's wife, Angelina.

"Hi, Harry," the twins responded in one voice, while Angelina smiled warmly and kissed her former teammate's cheek.

"Hi," Harry grinned. "How's business?"

"Booming," Fred said proudly. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"Our latest line of Mutating Sweets are flying off the shelves," George said happily.

Before Harry could respond, the doorbell rang again, and at the same time Bill and Fleur Apperated into the kitchen.

"We know our way, Harry," Bill said with a wink. "You'd better get the door."

Harry opened the door to find Luna Lovegood standing on the steps, staring dreamily up at the Weasleys' five chimneys. She was wearing a bright pink dress with brown hiking boots; her hair was tied up with a paisley scarf.

"Hello, Harry," she said, breezing past him into the house. "Very nice house, this. Is it yours?"

"No, it's Ron's parents'," Harry replied, shutting the door behind her and showing her into the living room. When they went in he saw Luna was the last to arrive; Percy and Penelope were there already, and so was Charlie and his wife Anica. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had set out platters of appetizers and everyone was eating and chatting happily. Well – almost everyone.

"I _thought_ you sent an owl to Viktor!" Hermione hissed to Ron: engaged not even a day, they already fought like a married couple (though, noted Harry, they did even before they were an official couple); they had used Ron's hair as an excuse to draw away from the party and bicker. Harry decided wisely that he wouldn't interfere – yet.

Ron held a nervous hand behind his head, tried to smile, and took a step away from his fiancée. "I told you Pig wouldn't reach Bulgaria overnight-"

"And _I_ told _you_ Viktor was in town!" Hermione exploded. Harry winced, feet away, for Ron, who had focused his gaze at the floor.

"Vicky wouldn't have wanted to-"

"Don't call him _Vicky_!"

Luckily Sirius be-bopped up to Hermione, dancing to an old Beatles song from a beat-up Muggle CD player Remus had brought. (It was turned on only after he had wrestled it from Mr. Weasley, who was intent on figuring out exactly how it worked.) "May I have this dance?" he asked, ushering Hermione away from a white-faced Ron.

Harry grinned at his best friend. "I thought you were done with being jealous of Viktor, huh mate?" he asked playfully.

Ron gritted his teeth and scowled at Harry, then reached for the food table: In two seconds flat, Harry's glasses were covered with chip dip, and Ron had marched away, muttering under his breath, "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Vicky…."

Someone giggled behind Harry mistily, and Luna Lovegood squashed a napkin in his hand. She waited until he had cleaned his glasses before asking, almost as if in a trance, "Would you like to dance?"

"Er- all right," he replied, to both their surprises.

The music faltered momentarily and Mrs. Weasley, standing on the arm of a mismatched sofa, cleared her throat. "Dinner's served outside," she announced, and toppled over into Remus' arms amidst the stampede outside.

"Great to see you again, too, Molly dear," he joked.

Mrs. Weasley grinned and made her way out the door, bearing barbeque tongs. "Who wants _chicken_?" she sang. A laughing Remus followed her, and took a chair between Sirius and Harry.

Once everyone was seated, Hermione and Ron at one end, glaring at each other, Percy stood up, clinked his plastic cup, frowning, and cleared his throat.

The talking raged on.

"Excuse me, everyone; excuse me," Percy yelled.

Luna, Penelope, and Hermione gazed up at him.

"I would like to _speak_!" Percy finally roared, very red in the face. Ginny chucked a roll at Seamus, talking animatedly to Charlie, and the table was quiet.

"Um- thank you." Percy faltered a moment and regained composure. "Well, yes, anyway – I'd like to seize this opportunity and be the first – and, I hope, not the last – to formally congratulate my youngest brother, Ronald James, and his beautiful fiancée, Hermione Elisabeth, on their-"

"Here, here!" Fred interrupted, and he and George grinned across the table, touched glasses, and downed the frothing liquid inside. Angelina, embarrassed, put her head in her hands.

Percy sniffed. "Right… now, where was…? Oh, yes! This has been long since expected, and now that the time has come, I must say, I am indeed-"

"Let's eat!" Bill exclaimed.

"Of course, 'oney," Fleur cooed, and, with that, Bill fed her a forkful of mashed potatoes.

Ron blanched.

Hermione hit him over the head. "It's cute, and it shows he loves her, and doesn't care about being embarrassed…"

"Well, I love you too," Ron replied, "but I'm not about to _feed you_, you have two hands and a fork…"

"It's a _spork_," she said through gritted teeth. Harry sighed – they were at it again.

"What exactly is a spork?" Charlie asked at that moment, holding up his own and squinting at it in puzzlement.

"A combination of a spoon and a fork," Remus piped up at once, "Invented by Muggles, only for, I believe, the purpose of eating coleslaw at take-out chicken restaurants."

"Ingenious," sighed Mr. Weasley in delight. "The things those Muggles come up with..."

Percy finally sat back down, visibly ruffled at not being able to finish his speech. Penelope patted his arm comfortingly and murmured something about 'there's always the wedding'. Percy nodded glumly and hid himself behind his wine goblet.

"Hey!" Fred said. "I just thought of something. Ron, Hermione, where are you going to live?"

"Well," Hermione said, "We'll have to start house-hunting rather soon. I'm rather particular to owning an old, Victorian-style house... think of how fun it would be to fix it up..."

"No way!" Ron said, waving a hand disapprovingly. "We don't have that kind of money. We'll have to get ourselves a flat for the time being."

"Yes, true, but how about a nice little cottage?"

"No, NO! I am NOT living in some gay little -" He was cut off by the sound of a throat being cleared loudly and saw Sirius and Remus glaring Scary Patented Ex-Convict and Werewolf Glares at him. "I mean, stupid - better, mates- cottage."

"You could always buy my uncle's house," Harry said. "The Dursleys are moving to Majorca."

"No thanks," Hermione and Ron said in unison.

"Yeah. The Dursley slime will never come off that house," mumbled Harry to himself.

Hermione turned back to her husband-to-be. "I say we get a sweet little cottage!"

"No! A flat! I don't have enough money!"

"We could rent it!"

"No way! I -"

But their argument was cut off by Mrs. Weasley this time. "I think," she said sternly, "You will have plenty of time to discuss this after your party."

"Sorry, Mum," Ron mumbled, while Hermione smiled apologetically at Mrs. Weasley, who smiled back and turned instead to her cousin, who was busy trying to tape sporks together to make an "Ultimate Spork".

"Sirius! Put down that... thing… and fetch your dessert for us, I think everyone's ready for it."

"Sure thing, Molly," Sirius said cheerfully, abandoning his Ultimate Spork and hurrying back into the house. When he returned, the foil-covered plate was in his hands. They all eyed it a little apprehensively. Ginny squinted. Was it just her, or was the lump under the foil... bigger... than it had been that morning?

"Ta da!" Sirius said, swelling with pride and sweeping the foil off the plate. They stared blankly. Sitting before them was some kind of large, purple blob.

"So? What do you think?" Sirius asked eagerly.

"Uhh... is it supposed to be purple?" Charlie asked.

"Yes."

"Is it edible?" George asked suspiciously.

"I'm not Snape! I'm not trying to poison you!" Sirius said, holding up a knife. "Okay, who wants a chunk?"

Silence. Sirius' bottom lip pooched out. "No one?"

"Oh, I'll be brave," sighed Remus. "Let me try, love."

Sirius beamed and went to cut the blob.

But when he put the blade to the blob, it squeaked loudly and turned blue.

The result was rather startling, considering what the various members had faced throughout their lives. Seamus, who had endured seeing Lavender without make-up during the short time they had gone out, yelped and held his napkin as a shield. Fred, who had encountered childbirth, held out his wand and roared, "Holy!" before Angelina elbowed him. Ron had been pulled into the Whomping Willow, which was a terrifying experience in itself, but nonetheless leapt into Hermione's lap, burying his face in her hair.

Harry, of course, took the cake, having experienced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named every year, in some form, during his stay at Hogwarts. He overcame dementors; saw Cedric die; he had even been attacked by a maniac with someone else's head growing from where his hair should have been, which was truly disturbing.

However, all that didn't stop him from shrieking like a little girl and diving under Luna's chair. "What- what- what _is_ that thing?"

Bill rose from his chair – "Be careful! Sink of our children!" said Fleur – and approached the blob. The party held its collective breath. Bravely, he prodded it with his spork.

It moved!

"That thing is alive," Ginny stated, awed.

"Don't be silly," Remus said, taking a step closer to the blob, which had turned green. Sirius grabbed his arm, but Remus shrugged him off. "Sirius _made_ this, I watched him. This is just- a- _dessert_!" On that final note, Remus jabbed the blob with his wand.

It jumped. Right onto his wand. Hermione screamed, and Remus backed away from the now-yellow ball of something.

"Remmie, I don't know what went wrong!" Sirius tried to defend himself. "I tried to make it perfectly, but the bottles didn't have labels, so I guessed at what to use!"

Remus paled as the blob climbed over his wand and seemed to double. It was now roughly the size of Hermione's hair, which was considerably large and bushy.

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, hands on her hips. "We're all so stupid! All we have to do is use a spell!" But before she could even begin to mutter an incantation, the blob inched toward Penelope.

"Help!" she shrieked, shaking violently as the blob attached itself to her shoe, cooing. "Get it off, get it off, I'm too young to die!" The scene might have been funny if they could have been sure that it was harmless.

"I'll help you, Penny!" Percy cried and took a flying leap to where Penelope sat in shock, the blob contently rubbing against her shoe, steadily growing to the size of a small house-elf.

Within a second, Percy had aimed a kick at the blob, prepared to send it sailing—

_Squish_. Now the thing was covering Percy's left leg; it was a violent shade of orange. He was hopping around on one foot, screaming wildly. Everyone looked on in horror, except for George and Fred, who were giggling madly, and Sirius, who had spread his legs, wand clutched in a shaking hand, ready to do battle.

"Get it off me, get it off me!" Percy shrieked, the twins doubling up with laughter and making no move at all to help their elder brother.

"Hold still, Perce!" Sirius yelled, pointing his wand at the currently-plaid blob. "I hope this works! STUPEFY!"

The Stunning Spell bounced harmlessly off of the cooing goo and Sirius had to dive out of the way as his hex rebounded on him. He swore as he rolled across the grass, only ending up with a mouthful of dirt. He staggered back to his feet and shook his long hair out of his eyes. Where was the blob now?

"EEEEEEKK!"

Ah. There it was, attached to the hem of Angelina's skirt. She was struggling with it. Sirius charged over to the blob. When it saw (saw?) him coming, it released Angelina and rolled away, turning from plaid to leopard-print.

Sirius chased it across the yard. It was growing steadily as it went, and the party stopped and watched in horror as the blob extended a clump of itself to catch a gnome fleeing from it. The blob ate the gnome, turning from leopard-print to candy-cotton-pink and increasing alarmingly in size.

"What exactly did you MAKE, Sirius?" Mrs. Weasley shouted. "If you don't learn to cook properly you'll find yourself up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office!"

"I didn't TRY to make it, Molly!" Sirius yelled back, jumping in front of Remus to shield him from the blob. "I was TRYING to make a custard!"

"Do something!" Remus cried in fright.

"IMPEDIMENTA!" Sirius roared. The curse managed to penetrate the blob, sending it flying backwards into the picnic table. It made a loud bubbling noise and began to flash.

"Oh, crud. I think you made it mad," Harry squeaked.

Luna sniffed. "You're all hopeless." She marched bravely up to the blob, seized the salt shaker, and emptied it onto the blob.

The blob began to sizzle and smoke. It shrunk rapidly and turned black. Soon, nothing was left but a few charred remains.

"Er - how did you know what to do with that?" Dean asked, bewildered.

Luna held out that month's issue of _The Quibbler_. On the front was the headline _"Our Pudding Ate My Husband!"_

Everyone turned to glare at Sirius.

"IT WASN'T A PUDDING!" he yelled defensively. "IT WAS A CUSTARD!"

_-_

"All ready to go, Ronnie?" Hermione asked cheerfully, taking her fiancé's hand. Their squabble over Viktor had been forgotten after the incidents of last week's barbecue; but they had remembered it was time to go house-hunting.

"Um, almost. Hermione, I was thinking, d'you think we should bring someone else along to give us a second opinion?"

Hermione stopped to consider this. "We-ell... I suppose we might as well," she agreed. "Should we invite Harry?"

"Naturally. And Sirius and Remus, Harry never goes anywhere without them."

"Which is a good thing. Sometimes those two forget they're not teenagers anymore. Harry keeps them in line."

"Not always. Remember the trip to France…?"

"Oh, yeah... and that trip to the Natural History Museum..."

"And the time we went to the furniture store to buy Harry a new bed, and they insisted on trying out all the beds..."

"Well, they did test almost all of them before the manager kicked them out..." Hermione said, going over to the fireplace and taking down the Floo Powder.

_-_

"Sure, we'd love to go," Harry said eagerly. He was kneeling on the floor in front of the fireplace, talking to Hermione's head. "But last night was the full moon. I don't think Remus is up to it."

"Oh, I forgot about that," Hermione said sadly.

"Here, I'll go ask," Harry said, hurrying out of the living room and heading down the hallway to Sirius' and Remus' room.

Remus was lying in bed with the blankets pulled to his chin, evidently trying to sleep, but Sirius was stroking his hair and trying to sing him a lullaby, which was NOT helping him get to sleep. The lullaby was in French, which Remus spoke but Sirius didn't, and it was quite annoying to listen to badly pronounced French interspersed with "Um... line!" or "er... something, something..." when Sirius either forgot the words or couldn't remember how to say them. So it came as something of a relief when Harry knocked on the door and entered.

"Hermione and Ron want to know if we want to go house-hunting with them," he said. "I told them you probably can't go, Remus, but they still want me and Sirius to come."

Yay! A chance for blessed relief! Remus closed his eyes and quickly thanked God. "Oh, you two, go on, it'll be fun."

"I don't wanna leave you, Remmie!" Sirius wailed. "You NEED me!"

"I'll be fine. I'll just sleep until you come home. Go on, don't disappoint Ron and Hermione."

"Okay then," Sirius sighed. "Don't leave this bed until I get home!"

"I won't," Remus promised as Sirius kissed his cheek. "Have fun!"

Harry ran to the fireplace where Hermione was waiting, glancing idly around the room. "Sirius wants to come!" he said happily, kneeling by the fire.

"Oh good!" Hermione exclaimed. "Hopefully that'll stop Ron from picking out the most horrid, flea-bitten- ow! Harry, I think Ron wants to get going."

"All right. We'll meet you-"

"Outside Florean Fortescue's in an hour. Ron and I are going to have a quick lunch, but we're going to meet this real estate friend of Ron's mum there."

Harry looked skeptical. "A _magical_ agent? I thought you wanted a nice, normal place."

"Well…" she sighed. "Ron won that one. But we're looking at some in Muggle neighbourhoods, so _do_ have Sirius wear something appropriate, and I told Ron we are _not_ renting a flat! Bye Harry!" With a quick pop Hermione disappeared, leaving Harry looking on, dumbfounded.

He had a feeling he was in for much more than he bargained for.

_-_

Harry walked down Diagon Alley in the bright sunshine, accompanied by Sirius, who had attempted to dress himself like a Muggle – unfortunately, the only clothes he had left over from his non-magical summers during his late Hogwarts days included both sequins _and_ ruffles, which embarrassed Harry to no end. He didn't look like a wizard, like Hermione had asked, but he didn't exactly look _normal_ either.

"Harry! Sirius! Over here!" Hermione called from a seat next to Ron, who was blushing like mad (probably because of Sirius' pants, thought Harry; they were not only leather, but very tight). Perched on a chair opposite Ron was a very blonde, bird-like woman who had focused her gaze on Sirius interestedly.

All three rose when Harry and Sirius approached. "Harry, Sirius, this is Ms. Adele Finch, our real estate agent." Harry shook her hand amidst a chorus of hellos and shared a look with Ron. Hermione just continued, "Now, she says there're a couple of nice places for rent down in Kent, but they're in non-magical areas so we'll have to take the Knight Bus, I think…."

Ron turned a pale green and Ms. Finch eyed Sirius, nodding; Sirius just pulled at a loose thread attached to his cuff. Harry sighed.

The ride on the Knight Bus was rocky but, for the most part and to everyone's immense relief, uneventful. It did take Ron a quarter of an hour to catch his breath and be able to walk steadily, Hermione cooing, "It's all right, Ronnie, we'll take the Underground next time…." Harry considered that a minor technicality.

They had bigger fish to fry.

"Well, it really is a charming house, you know… Everything's working and up code, magical and not, and the neighbours are really nice people… they live in Aruba nine months of the year, only the grandmother lives there year-round, but she's blind and doesn't get out much, don't worry about her…."

"You'd have to be blind to live next to this monstrosity," Sirius stated bluntly. Harry and Hermione nodded, but Ron could only look on in horror at what had to be the most horrible, frightening house ever created.

"I am not living in a _pink_ house," he managed to squeak.

"Ron, don't be ridiculous!" Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste at the lurid, shocking pink house they stood in front of. "We could… paint it. That might be… fun," she added, uncertainly.

Ron only squeaked again, incoherently.

Under his breath, Sirius added, "It looks like the colour of Tonks' hair…."

"Well, let's… have a look inside, shall we?" Ms. Finch said softly, making her way to the house carefully. The other four followed, stepping around mounds of dirt and broken toys. What seemed like years and years of discarded furniture, old clothing, and rotten food was piled in the front yard, almost overtaking all else and spilling into the neighbours' lawn. The pile was topped by an old, mouldy Mr. Potato Head doll.

"Hey, that's my shirt!" Sirius exclaimed, pointing at the bottom of the pile.

Ron gagged.

"Are the – er – _lighting fixtures_ a permanent – well – part of the house?" Harry, of course, was referring to the wicker reindeer adorned with flashing lights; they were placed strategically around the roof, a huge Santa bearing the legend, "Ho, ho, ho!" stuck smack in the middle of it all. Plastic candy canes stuck jaggedly from the ground and fake icicles "dripped" from the roof. Coloured lights twinkled merrily along the gutter (many bulbs were broken) and a dead wreath hung, crumbling, from the front door.

It was all so… Christmas-y. Too bad it was April.

Ms. Finch nodded her head sadly. "Just think, at least the house is always decorated for Christmas!" Hermione and Sirius exchanged a look.

"The inside's lovely!" the agent exclaimed as she flung the door open, revealing a kitchen with dirty, peeling grey wallpaper. Grease ran down the sides of the stove and Harry was almost _positive_ he saw a rat slink away.

"Did the former occupants, by any chance, just up and leave without taking any of their stuff?" Harry asked, pointing at the porcelain sink overflowing with dishes encrusted with who-knew-what.

Ms. Finch smiled shakily. "Actually, they were in the Mafia, they needed to get out quickly for some reason…."

Harry saw Hermione shudder and pale, as Ron's eyes widened. Ms. Finch tried to pull off a giggle. "Look, the master bedroom's right through this door!"

It was almost as if they were in some two-star American horror film rated "The Pits!" by the _New York Times_. The walks were pink, white, red, orange, and purple polka-dotted, and the putrid green shag carpet totally clashed. As for the moth-eaten curtains, well, Harry didn't think Mafia gangsters really favoured cream lace. "Shield your eyes!" Sirius called, turning away.

"Oh, it isn't _that_ bad, really," Ms. Finch said, pulling an empty beer bottle off the dresser.

"Is that… _blood_?" Harry asked uncertainly, staring at the bed. Sirius looked revolted.

"I think we've seen quite enough!" Hermione exclaimed, backing out of the room. Sirius was trying to comfort Ron, who had been quiet but was now hyperventilating.

_-_

Twenty minutes later, Ron had recovered and the group had traveled by Muggle bus to a nearby neighbourhood. There, Ms. Finch showed them a perfectly normal looking house, grey-blue with white trim.

"The last owner of this house passed away recently… she was an old woman. Not blind," she said as Sirius began to open his mouth. "The flower beds are a bit overgrown, and the driveway needs repaving, but it's very nice, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's cute!" Hermione said enthusiastically, her mind already clicking over things like drapes and flower boxes and who knew what else.

"Er... let's see the inside," Ron suggested. Ms. Finch nodded and led them into the house. They all stopped and stared.

The house was perfectly normal inside as well. The wallpaper was striped and not peeling, the carpets matched, and everything was clean.

But then there were the cats.

Hundreds of them, it seemed. Cats on every surface. On the floor. On the countertops. On the windowsills and shelves. EVERYWHERE.

"Dear Lord," Sirius said, paling visibly.

Ron sighed as several cats wound themselves, mewing, around his ankles. "Well, it won't be so bad after we get rid of all these cats."

With an embarrassed chuckle, Ms. Finch fiddled with her clipboard. "Er... technically, the cats own the house. You'd be their tenants."

"The cats……own the house?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione asked in unison, while Sirius made a face.

"Well, yes," Ms. Finch said. "The old owner left the house to her cats, who were her favourite family members..."

"Muggles are WEIRD," Ron said fervently as they left the cat house.

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Too bad, really," she mumbled. "It was such a nice house."

"You could've always trained the cats to be your own Army of the Damned," Sirius chuckled. "Go, my pretties! Kill! Kill!"

Everyone stared at him. Ron wondered if the sequined purple shirt Sirius was wearing wasn't cursed to lower the man's intelligence.

Once again, they took a trip by Muggle bus to the next house. Hermione was noticing that all the houses seemed to get shabbier and shabbier as they went along, and when they got off the bus she was horrified to find herself standing beside a large billboard, which read:

**"Whispering Pines Trailer Park. 7 Days Since Last Tornado."**

They stared in horror as Ms. Finch led them down the narrow 'street' between the rows of trailers. Muggles were peering curiously out windows and around doors as they passed; all of them seemed to be missing teeth and all wore plaid or checkered shirts. The dustbins were overflowing, almost all the trailers had rusty cars in their front yards, and the trailers themselves were faded, with peeling paint. The strains of _The Jerry Springer Show_ drifted from several of them.

"Dear Lord," Sirius murmured again. "Is it just me, or is this place tacky?"

Ms. Finch decided to ignore his comment and contented herself by sneaking a glance at Sirius' leather-clad arse. "Now. Trailers are ideal for couples starting out - small, cozy..."

Hermione and Ron exchanged skeptical looks.

"Cozy doesn't even begin to describe it," Sirius muttered, peering gingerly around the corner of the trailer. A narrow strip of grass and weeds separated this trailer from its neighbour. "Is that supposed to be a yard?"

Once again, Ms. Finch ignored him, and smiled reassuringly at Ron and Hermione. "Shall we take a look inside?"

"All right…." they said reluctantly. Ms. Finch beamed and opened the rusty screen door.

With a loud creak and a shower of rust flakes, the door broke off its hinges and tumbled down the steps.

Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and Harry all groaned.

_-_

"So, Ms. Finch, where _is_ the next house?" Harry asked, leaning forward to where the agent sat, squished, between the cab driver and Sirius. She didn't seem uncomfortable (rather, it seemed to be a game of how close she could get to Sirius without him saying something).

Harry, however, had become exceedingly bored over an hour ago: first, he had tried counting people in other cars who were doing something other than just driving (the weirdest he had come across was one woman shaving her legs and talking on a cell phone); when they turned into the sparse country and run out of cars, Harry counted cows. Now he was resigned to sitting in the backseat, doing nothing but trying to sleep, which had been rather pleasant for awhile.

But now Hermione's whimpering and Ron's reassuring, "We'll find something, don't worry…" was getting on his nerves. So much, in fact, that he was about to hit something. Repeatedly. With force.

"We're right… about… there," the blonde replied as the cab pulled to a stop and Ron forked some Muggle money to Harry, who counted it for him.

Everyone piled out like clowns, Sirius signaling to the driver to wait. Harry dropped to his knees and kissed the ground; "Sweet, sweet earth, how I love you…."

Ron gasped to Harry's right: before them, up on a hill, sat a _huge_ manor house. They walked up the cobbled walkway, taking in the lawns, perfectly manicured, that seemed to go on forever, and the forest and glittering lake beyond. The house seemed even larger than the Grangers' mansion. "Bloody hell," Sirius whispered, awed.

"Ron, it's so beautiful!" Hermione exclaimed, squeezing his hand tightly.

Ron sighed unhappily. "You know there's _no way_ we could _ever_ afford this place, Hermione."

Ms. Finch chuckled and turned onto a narrow path, beckoning the rest to follow her. "There's a smaller place back here, the manor already has occupants. Don't worry, it's right in your price range. _And_," she added, wiggling her eyebrows, "the only family around here, the one in the manor house, is magical."

"I can't believe they have a _topiary_," Sirius breathed. Ron had a sudden knot of foreboding wedged somewhere between his kidneys and spleen.

From among the trees emerged a cottage, stone with a red-shingled roof. It was white and smelt of fresh paint; the door had its own brass knocker. Best of all, the tiny garden out front was brimming with all sorts of flowers and plants, and a white picket fence ran around the perimeter of the (rather large) property.

"Ron, this is my dream house." Hermione kissed her fiancé and grinned.

"I'd like to see the inside," he stated grimly, remembering the cat house.

"Very well." Ms. Finch beamed and pulled out a small key; she pushed open the front door, which led into a beautiful sunken living room. Sunlight streamed in upon the hardwood floor and blue shag rug, and Sirius sank comfortably into the white arm chair.

Hermione ran down the hall and flung open a door. "Ron, come look at this!" she squealed.

The bedroom was wonderful. White curtains puffed out and were tied back with strips of lace; the bedspread on the canopy was covered with a yellow-and-lilac-flower print. Hermione exclaimed over the sliding closet doors and turned the bedside lamp on and off. "It's completely furnished," Ms. Finch said proudly.

"Ron, I want this house!" Hermione threw her arms around him and hugged tightly. "Please? I'm in love with it already."

Ms. Finch grinned and held up some papers. "It just needs signing and it's yours."

For a minute Ron just stood there, seemingly calculating. Then—

"Okay, what's the catch?"

"Catch? What Catch?" Ms. Finch asked innocently, eyes wide.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "The Mafia, the cats, the _trailer_… what's the catch?" he repeated.

"Well…." Ms. Finch tapped her chin thoughtfully. "There are a few _minor_ things… you eat in the main dining room of the manor, and you do your laundry up there. That's it." She sat on the bed and propped up her heeled feet.

Hermione looked at Ron. "Oh, well, that might be kind of fun… please Ron, please can we move in?"

Through gritted teeth he asked, "Who's the family? Who lives in the manor?" That knot in his stomach was tightening.

Ms. Finch paused and bit her lip; Hermione looked at Ron earnestly. "Well, the Malfoys, but—"

Ron turned on his heels and pulled Hermione after him. They passed Harry, who was poking around in the cupboards, apparently looking for some imperfection. They passed Sirius, who had buried himself in his purple silk and was starting to fall asleep. "We're leaving," he announced, marching back to the cab, pulling a protesting Hermione, Ms. Finch sputtering after.

"But Ron!" Hermione cried, looking up at him. "It's- it's perfect… why…?"

"I _will not_ live in the Malfoys' backyard!" Ron exclaimed, looking harassed.

With that, Hermione promptly burst into tears.

Harry came running out of the house. "Hey, wait up!" he yelled, jumping into the cab and nearly setting himself in Ms. Finch's lap. "Oops, sorry."

As the cab pulled away, Ron put an awkward arm around Hermione's shoulders. "I'm sorry, 'Mione... but think about it... would you really want to look out the window and see... Draco sunbathing naked, or something like that?"

"But it was s-so nice..." Hermione sobbed.

Meanwhile, back at the Malfoys', Sirius was stretched out on the comfy bed, playing with his hair and starting to doze off. He hadn't yet realized he had been left behind. He thought Ms. Finch was taking the others on a tour of the grounds. He smiled and closed his eyes.

"The only thing that would make this bed better would be having Remmie in here with me," he mumbled before falling asleep.

Narcissa Malfoy carried a load of linens down to the servants' cottage, frowning severely. She HATED doing laundry, but since Dobby had been rescued by that wretched Potter boy the laundry had fallen entirely on her shoulders. She and Lucius couldn't find any servants of the wizarding kind, and they were not about to let a filthy Muggle clean their manor! So, Narcissa was stuck carting the laundry back and forth like... like... like one of those Weasleys!

She pushed the door open with her shoulder and scowled harder. That damned realtor had left it open again.

As she entered the bedroom with her load of linens, a large purple-and-black thing lying on the bed caught her attention at once. She shrieked, dropping all the sheets, and whipped out her wand.

"Heh? Eh?"

The thing spluttered and sat up, and Narcissa realized it was a man dressed in a purple silk shirt and black leather trousers, his long black hair hanging in his face. The man flipped his hair back and blinked sleepily at her, and Narcissa realized who it was - her cousin, Sirius Black.

"What are you doing here!" Narcissa demanded.

"I _was_ sleeping," Sirius said. "Waiting for that creepy realtor to bring Harry, Ron, and Hermione back." He noticed the sheets all over the floor. "Oh. Did you want to make the bed?"

"GET - OUT!" Narcissa screamed, snatching up a nearby china figurine and hurling it at his head.

Sirius ducked and the figurine shattered against the wall over the headboard. "Sheesh. If you're gonna be that way, I'll be glad to leave!" He slid off the bed and straightened his shirt. "Have you seen the others?"

Narcissa ground her teeth. "No, but a cab just pulled away from here a few minutes ago."

Sirius yelped. "They left me behind!" He jumped over the pile of sheets and ran out of the cottage.

Narcissa looked down at the rumpled sheets and began to cry.

_-_

While Narcissa was throwing figurines at Sirius, Ron had managed to comfort Hermione. Well, he stopped her crying, at least.

Ms. Finch looked relieved. "Now... there is one more house I can show you here in Kent…." she leaned forward and murmured something to the driver.

"It better not be a cat house," Ron grumbled. "Or a trailer."

As this was going on, Harry was squirming in his seat. For the last ten minutes he had had the annoying feeling that they had forgotten something. What could it be?

"Have you ever felt like you didn't do something, but know you did, but can't help thinking you forgot anyway, Sirius?" he asked.

No response.

"Sirius?"

Still no answer. Harry did a quick head count. "Me, Hermione, Ron, Ms. Finch, cab driver… …hang on... WHERE'S SIRIUS!"

The others jumped at his shout.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron asked, looking round curiously.

"WE LEFT SIRIUS AT THE MALFOYS'!"

There was a moment of silence. Then -

"Oh, crud." Ron mumbled.

"Oh no," Hermione moaned. "I knew there was something wrong, I didn't hear any sarcastic mumblings… …we've got to go back and get him!"

And so they had the disgruntled cab driver turn around and go back. When they reached the Malfoys' once more, they found a very despondent and sleepy-looking Sirius sitting on the curb with his head in his hands and grass in his hair.

"The gardener chased me off the property," he mumbled before anyone could ask, wedging himself into the front seat between Ms. Finch and the door. He was silent the rest of the drive, picking grass out of his hair and flicking it out the window.

"Here we are," Ms. Finch sang as the cab pulled up to a small white cottage with black shutters and a neatly-kept flower bed. "The last house on our stop."

They clambered out. "Ooh, it's lovely," Hermione said, beginning to recover from her big disappointment.

Ms. Finch beamed. "The inside's just as lovely as the outside," she said. "Come, let's go look."

Harry looked around when they reached the front porch and saw that his godfather was still standing at the gate, frowning, hands on his hips.

"We're not going to leave you behind again, Sirius," he teased, unable to help himself.

"That's not it," Sirius said. "It's just that this house looks really familiar. Talk about déja vu." He shook himself out of his trance and followed Harry into the house.

The house was lovely on the inside, not as nice as the Malfoys' cottage, but still very nice all the same. A few pieces of furniture were still in the house, some covered by old sheets.

"The furniture comes with the house," Ms. Finch said. "The old owner was a carpenter, but when he joined the Army, he and his family couldn't take all the furniture he had made, so they decided to sell it along with the house. What do you think?"

Hermione was peeking under one of the sheets, entranced by the beautiful hutch beneath it. "I think it's beautiful!"

"It's okay," Ron said, relieved. "Can we see the backyard?"

"Certainly," Ms. Finch said, beckoning them to the back door and opening it.

"Oooooh!" Hermione squealed.

Flower beds surrounded the yard, partially hiding the white picket fence. The house had a large back porch, complete with a swing, and the yard looked big enough to have a Weasley family barbecue with no problem at all. But the best part was at the back of the yard, almost opposite the back door.

"A koi pond!" Hermione cried in delight, rushing over to the pond. Ms. Finch followed, smiling.

"Unfortunately, there are no fish in it yet, but there's a pet shop nearby that carry koi and Japanese goldfish," she said.

Hermione's disappointment over not getting the Malfoys' was dissipating fast. She clutched at Ron's arm. "I want it, I want it!" she said eagerly. "Please, Ron, please?"

With a sigh, Ron took the papers from Ms. Finch and scanned them. His eyebrows raised slightly. "Pretty reasonable price."

Hermione squealed. She grabbed Sirius by the hand and the two of them danced in a circle. Ms. Finch's smile widened.

"An excellent choice! Now, if you'll come back to the office, we'll go over the papers…."

They were heading back to the cab when a cheerful voice called, "Yoo-hoo! Find a house?"

Right across the street was Remus, leaning out his bedroom window and waving merrily.

Sirius slapped himself in the forehead. "Now I know why I recognized this house! It's right across the street from mine!" He waved back at Remus.

"Let me warn you now, you might have trouble sleeping living across from them," Harry muttered to his friends. "Take it from me. My bedroom's right next to theirs."

Ron looked revolted as he followed Ms. Finch into the cab. Hermione merely shook her head and muttered, "Men……."

_-_

_Upcoming attractions…._

**Ch/3: If You Like ****Piña****Coladas** – Harry, Remus, Hermione, and Ron make out invitations, Sirius picks the music… and gets drunk. Figures. And what is it with inviting Snape… and Bellatrix!


	3. If You Like Pina Coladas

A/N – Thanks to all the reviewers - we really do appreciate each and every one of your reviews. However, please don't say that you hate Sirius/Remus... or that it's wrong... because we put up a slash warning, and we like the couple. Sorry... but you don't have to read the fic. We'd rather someone likes reading it, as opposed to someone who hates it and still reads it. Thanks again.

_"If You Like __Piña__Coladas__..."_

"Remind me again, why are we doing this at Sirius' house?" Ron asked his fiance, trying to balance a huge stack of stationary boxes.

"I told you before, it'll be easier. Your house has too many people squished into it, my parents are hosting a party for dentists, and our house isn't fit for living in yet." Hermione replied, pressing the doorbell. "Besides, if I know Sirius, which I do, he'll have a record collection too big to move."

"Right," Ron mumbled as the door was opened by Harry.

"Hi guys!" Harry yelled. He had to yell, because some tropical music was playing loudly on the stereo. "Sirius, turn that DOWN!"

The music level dropped almost instantly. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, looked up at the sky, and mouthed the words 'Thank you!' before leading his best friends inside.

"What in the world are you listening to, Sirius?" Hermione asked curiously as they entered the living room to find Harry's godfather wearing a straw beach hat and singing along to the song.

"The Piña Colada song," Sirius said. He saw the look on Harry and Ron's faces and sighed. "Okay, okay, I get the hint." He turned the music off, brightened, and hurried off into the kitchen just as Remus came in, his arms filled with fancy calligraphy quills, bottles of coloured inks, and rolls of parchment in several pastel shades.

"Here's my calligraphy supplies," he said, ignoring the stupid hat on his lover's head, and setting out his things on the coffee table. "If you don't like what I've got, we can go down to that Muggle stationary shop in the village and see what they have."

"I think you've got the Muggles beat, Remus, mate," Ron said, gawking at the selection before him.

Hermione gently fingered a roll of pale-pink parchment. "This is so pretty, Remus! When you said you could do a little bit of calligraphy, I didn't expect anything like this!"

Remus blushed a little and smiled. But Ron spoke before Remus could.

"I am NOT sending out pink invitations!" he said crossly.

"What do you have against pink?" Hermione demanded.

"Well, I probably would like it more if I hadn't ever seen Sirius in pink leather pants!"

"I SAID I was sorry!" Sirius yelled from the kitchen. This was followed by the loud whining of the blender.

"You don't have to have pink," Remus said to Ron. "Actually, white or cream is the best colour for wedding invitations. I suggest we stick to that for the invitations themselves, but the ink can be any colour you want."

"NO PINK!"

"We know, Ron!" Hermione snapped, picking up a bottle of glittery gold ink. "What do you think of this, then?"

He studied it skeptically. "I dunno... it's okay, but..." He picked up a bottle of silver ink. "I like this better."

"This blue's nice," Harry suggested, studying a bottle of peacock-blue ink.

Sirius entered the room with some kind of blender-mixed drink in his hand. "How about good old black?"

Remus held up a green bottle. "Jade! And WHAT are you drinking, love?" he asked, the last directed to Sirius.

"Piña colada," Sirius replied casually, taking a huge sip. Remus groaned.

"I like the gold," Hermione said stubbornly.

"But I like silver!" Ron whined.

"BLUE!" Harry yelled.

"BLACK!" Sirius yelled even louder.

"Stop shouting!" Remus ordered, and the others fell silent at once. "Arguing isn't going to get us anywhere." He paused. "And I still say you should have jade."

A furious fight ensued, in which everyone got their hair pulled by Hermione and were splashed by Sirius' piña colada. When they disentangled themselves and retreated to separate parts of the room, nursing their injuries, Remus spoke.

"I must say, the choice should be left up to Hermione and Ron - it is their wedding. But we're not going to get anywhere shouting at each other." He smoothed his bangs and continued, "I'll think of a number between one and ten. Ron and Hermione, you guess what number I'm thinking of. Whomever's closest gets to choose the ink colour."

The others agreed this sounded fair, and Sirius returned to the kitchen to make another piña colada while Remus closed his eyes and thought.

"Right then," he said after a moment, "Ready. Ron, choose a number."

"Er... five?"

"Hermione?"

"Um... one?"

"I was thinking of two," Remus said. "Hermione, your choice."

"Dammit!" Ron mumbled under his breath, but Hermione beamed.

"Gold, I want the gold!" she squealed, thrusting the bottle at Remus. "Let me see what you can do!"

Remus carefully selected a quill and tore off a scrap of cream parchment. He dipped his quill in the gold ink, paused, and slowly wrote, in an elaborate hand:

'Mr. And Mrs. Thurston Granger Request the Honour of Your Presence at the Marriage of their Daughter, Hermione Elisabeth, to Ronald James Weasley...'

"Oooooh, that's so pretty!" Hermione gasped as Remus paused in his writing. "You're so good at stuff like this, Remus!"

"I could make all sorts of remarks about that comment, Hermione," Sirius smirked from the doorway, where he was sipping a fresh piña colada.

"Don't," Harry warned his godfather. "And watch how much you drink."

"First Remmie, now you. What does everyone have against me drinking?" Sirius inquired, flopping down on the couch and watching as Remus began preparing himself to write up the invitations.

"You've been known to become very reckless when you drink," Remus said, giving his lover an angry glare.

"WHY d'you always bring up the time I stripped at Harry's birthday party!" Sirius shouted. "It was nineteen years ago, for cripes' sake!"

"You drank an entire bottle of champagne by yourself!"

"Well, how was I to know Jim's parents were saving it from their wedding!"

"Lily didn't speak for you for three weeks!"

Harry twitched. He couldn't remember his first birthday party. He must have blocked it from his memory out of trauma, he supposed. Ron and Hermione were warily watching the two wizards bickering; Ron looked highly amused while Hermione seemed torn between exasperation and impatience.

"Er - Sirius? I think you should get to choosing the music," she finally said loudly, trying to be heard over the argument.

Sirius paused in recounting all the times Remus had had him put in detention at school to turn and face Hermione. "Music? Oh, right! Looks like we'll have to renew this argument later, Remmie," he said happily, seizing his drink and jumping up. He crossed over to the record cabinet in the corner and opened its doors to reveal a voluminous collection of albums. More records, cassettes, and CDs were piled precariously on top of and all around the cabinet.

"When you said Sirius was a sucker for Muggle music, you sure weren't kidding," Ron muttered to Harry.

"At least it makes him easy to shop for," Harry mumbled back. "Honestly, when it comes to Muggle music he's almost as bad as your dad with his Muggle inventions..."

"Ah!" Sirius said loudly, pulling a record from the pile. Remus jumped at Sirius' cry, blotting gold ink all over the sample piece of parchment.

"Siri-love... would you MIND... doing that in the other room!" Remus growled through clenched teeth, tapping his wand to the parchment and coffee table to remove the ink splatters.

The raven-haired Animagus looked from his music collection to the furious look on his mate's face. "Yes, dear," he said meekly, before levitating all his albums into their bedroom. Just to be safe, he put a Silencing Charm on the door, so Remus wouldn't be mad when he started playing his records. Then, gleefully, he turned to the teetering stack of albums before him.

"Right. First up... the Village People..."

_-_

"All right. Just one question," Ron said to Remus. "How, exactly, are you going to make all the invitations identical? Muggles use printers and computers and things like that..."

"That's easy," Remus said calmly. "I'll use a Duplicating Charm."

"Of course!" Hermione said, hitting herself in the forehead.

"Duplicating Charm?" Ron and Harry asked blankly.

"I'd think you'd know what it was just by the name," Remus said with a sigh. "You can use a Duplicating Charm to duplicate any object - any inanimate object. For the number of invitations we need..." -he scanned the guest list Hermione had given him - "...I'd have to duplicate the first invitation about a hundred times. It'll help to have a few extras, of course, in case we forget someone or need a few last-minute invites."

"You're so ingenious," Hermione said to him admiringly.

Remus spread his hands. "Oh, it's nothing, really," he said modestly. "Now, you three, start putting the address labels and stamps on the envelopes, please. Once I finish writing and duplicating, I'll start addressing the envelopes for you."

And so they set to work. Harry did stamps, Ron did return labels, and Hermione kept careful track of the number of envelopes.

"The total guest list is one hundred and sixty-seven people," Hermione counted off on her list, "But we only need to send eighty-six invitations, since a lot of the people coming are families with a lot of children."

"Right," Remus agreed, neatly stacking the last invite on top of his pile. "So I did okay with a hundred. Okay, let's start with the envelopes... Harry, Ron, why don't you go help Sirius with his music-choosing?"

"Okay," the two wizards agreed, relieved at being free from tedious invitation duty. They hurried off to Sirius and Remus' bedroom as Hermione began dictating the first address to Remus.

_-_

"Yes! Perfect!" Sirius said happily, reaching for the long roll of parchment on which he was writing the titles of the approved songs. "Okay, the Hustle's in!"

The door swung open as he was scrawling 'The Hustle - Van McCoy' on his parchment, and Harry and Ron entered.

"Hey, Sirius. How's it coming?" Harry asked as he and Ron wound their way around stacks of records to join him on the floor beside the record player.

"Okay, I think," Sirius said, fumbling for his piña colada (fourth of the day), taking a sip, and hiccuping.

Harry and Ron exchanged Looks. "Er - Sirius, mate - how many of those have you had?" Ron asked timidly.

"Only abou' four," Sirius said, and Harry and Ron exchanged another Look when they heard the way Sirius' words were beginning to slur. Sirius didn't see; instead, he cackled to himself and added 'Escape - The Piña Colada Song' to his list.

"'Scuse me while I freshen this up," Sirius said, picking up his empty glass and staggering to his feet. "Be... (hic!) .. right back..."

Harry peered at the scroll of parchment as Ron followed Sirius to the door, watching the older man's unsteady progress down the hall.

" 'Can You Feel The Love Tonight'... 'Night Fever'... 'Your Song'... 'The Macarena'... 'YELLOW SUBMARINE'!" Harry cried, throwing down the list. "Ugh! I'd tell him they were bad choices, but arguing with Sirius over music is a good way to get my nose broken."

Ron rejoined him on the floor. "I'm more worried about the man than the music," he said heavily. "Harry, how well does Sirius hold his liquor?"

Surprised by this question, Harry gave it a quick think. "Er - well, I've only seen him drunk once, and that was the night he rescued me from the Dursleys. He has a few drinks if he goes out, and always has a glass of absinthe before bed. But all in all, I think he's okay."

"What about the piña coladas?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Well, he's entitled to a bit of fun," Harry said uncomfortably, as Sirius staggered back into the room with a fresh drink.

"D'you like piña coladas... annnnn' gettin' caught in the rainnnnn...?" he sang, saluting the pair of them so forcefully that alcohol slopped out of his glass and ran down his arm. "Ooopsie, don' wanna waste tha'," he sniggered, licking it up. Ron and Harry exchanged uneasy glances. Sirius plopped back down on the floor and slung his arms around their shoulders.

"Ahhhh, 'ere's the guy," he slurred, kissing Harry's ear. "Love ya, Jim, my best mate!"

"Uh... Sirius... I'm not my dad, I'm Harry," Harry protested, squirming from his godfather's grasp.

Sirius sat still for a moment, apparently confused; then he beamed and drained the last of his drink in one. "M'kay, Hairy," he chuckled, and turned to Ron instead. "Hey. You been hittin' on my Moony? Moony, get it? He's a werewolf. Get it?" He cackled and threw back his head, letting out a very convincing howl. "AAARRROOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

In the living room, Hermione jumped. "What was that?" she asked Remus fearfully.

Remus finished writing out his last address and laid down his quill. "Sirius," he replied, completely unperturbed. "He's always doing that. Especially in be- I mean, just to tease me."

Hermione twitched. "He sounds so realistic... I wonder what he's up to?" She jumped to her feet and hurried out of the room, while Remus scanned the guest list to be sure they hadn't forgotten anyone.

His brow creased. They had forgotten some people. Hermione had wanted to invite all of the professors from Hogwarts; but Snape wasn't on the list. Neither were Sirius' cousins, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. Now, Remus knew that neither Hermione nor Ron liked Snape, but it seemed to be awfully rude not to invite him. And he also knew the Black family tradition - whenever anyone in the family (including the Malfoys, Weasleys, Tonkses, and Lestranges) was getting married, all the members of the family had to at least be invited.

Obviously, it wouldn't be bright to invite Death Eaters to the wedding; but they had already invited the Malfoys and the Tonkses, so it was only common courtesy to send an invite to the Lestranges as well. Besides, they were likely to refuse.

Making up his mind quickly, Remus took two of the extra invitations, addressed the two envelopes, and slipped them into the pile. Then he heaved himself wearily to his feet. He supposed he'd better go see what Sirius was up to.

When he entered the bedroom it was to find 'Stayin' Alive' playing on the record player and a very harassed-looking Hermione being dragged across the room by Sirius, who was evidently trying to get her to dance the tango with him. Sirius was giggling madly and had a paper umbrella clenched between his teeth in place of a rose.

"All righty, 'Mione, one, two, three -" Sirius slurred, trying to dance but losing his balance and falling over, dragging the bride-to-be with him. "Whoopsies."

"Sirius!" Remus cried exasperatedly, as he and Ron hauled Sirius and Hermione to their feet. "Honestly, you are forty years old! Old enough to know better!"

Sirius hiccuped loudly a few times and blinked blearily at Remus. "Moony! Get me another drink!"

"You've had quite enough for tonight, I think," Remus said firmly, and he and Harry steered Sirius to the bed and made him lie down.

"Gonna join me, gorgeous?" Sirius breathed with a licentious wink at Remus, who shook his head emphatically.

"No, Siri. We're planning a wedding here!" He bent and picked up the parchment bearing the song titles. "Good Lord, will we even have enough time to play all these songs?"

"I think the main problem will be figuring out which ones he's chosen," Harry said, peeking over Remus' shoulder. The list got progressively messier and messier, a testament to Sirius' increasing drunkenness. Remus sighed.

"I'll have to rewrite it myself," he said unhappily, "As I'm just about the only person alive who can translate what James so accurately called 'Siri's Drunken-Ass Runes'."

"I want a drink!" Sirius yelled from the bed.

"Okay, okay," Harry grumped, and left the room. They had barely had enough time to wonder where he had gone when he returned, carrying a glass of some purple liquid. Sirius seized it eagerly and drank the entire contents in one gulp; his head dropped back onto the pillows and he began to snore. Harry caught the glass as it tumbled out of Sirius' hand and smiled.

"Er- what did you give him?" Ron asked.

"Sleeping Potion," Harry said happily. "Now, are we planning a menu or not?"

_-_

They left Sirius sleeping in the bedroom and congregated back in the living room to plan a wedding meal.

"It's going to be a five-course meal," Hermione said. "More like six courses, actually... there's the wedding cake to eat as well..."

"Appetizers, Soups, Salads, Main Course, Dessert, Wedding Cake," Remus muttered, making a few columns on a fresh bit of parchment. That done, he set his quill just below the 'Appetizers' heading and looked expectantly at Hermione and Ron. "What d'you plan on serving?"

"My cake must be a croquembouche," Hermione said dreamily.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. "Er - crocum-whatsis?"

"Croquembouche," Hermione said impatiently. "It's a French wedding cake. It's a giant pyramid of cream-filled pastries, with glaze and chocolate sauce drizzled all over it."

"It's so good," Remus added. "Siri and I tried a sample of it when we went on holiday to Paris."

Ron shrugged. "All right then," he said. "Knock yourselves out."

Hermione and Remus squealed, and Remus scribbled 'croquembouche' under the 'Wedding Cake' heading.

"All right," he said. "Back to appetizers. You know what's really good? Artichoke hearts!"

"Mmm," Hermione said. "I love artichoke hearts, write it down!"

"I have a soup suggestion!" Harry butted in. "Gazpacho!"

"Gazpacho?" Ron asked, becoming more and more confused.

"It's tomato soup, served ice-cold!"

(A/N: Try it sometime. It's delicious.)

"Uh... okay..." Ron said, and Remus wrote it down.

_-_

An hour later, they had finished putting together a reasonable list of choices. Remus' list looked something like this:

**Appetizers**  
Potatoes á Gratin  
Asparagus Tips  
Artichoke Hearts

**Soups  
**Gazpacho  
Duck Soup  
Clam Chowder

**Salads**  
Caesar Salad  
Garden Salad  
Lobster Salad

**Main Courses**  
Baked Sole  
Duck L'orange  
Chicken Flambeé  
Swordfish  
Lobster with Shrimp

**Desserts**  
Cherries Jubilee  
Baked Alaska

**Wedding Cake**  
Croquembouche

"Man, I'm drooling just thinking about it," Harry said. "And now I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"

"Grilled cheese," Remus said sadly, opening the fridge to reveal nothing but a package of cheese. "It was Siri's turn to go shopping yesterday. I think he forgot."

Harry deflated. "That sucks."

Hermione and Ron began gathering together their things. "Ron, get the invites, please," Hermione requested, as she helped Remus put away his calligraphy supplies.

"Sure thing," Ron said, and hurried into the living room to get the teetering pile of invites. Remus hadn't stacked them very neatly, and as Ron tried to pick them up, he knocked half of them to the ground.

Muttering a few nasty curses under his breath, Ron began picking up the scattered envelopes. The last one had fluttered halfway under the couch, and when he pulled it out, the name caught his eye.

**Mr.****Viktor****Krum**

"Oh, old Vicky is coming," Ron scowled. Then an evil smile spread across his freckled face. Seizing a quill and some black ink from the coffee table, he bent over Viktor's invitation and scribbled out 'Viktor', replacing it with 'Vicky'.

"That's much better," he said happily. Okay, he felt a little bad at spoiling the lovely job Remus had done on the envelope, but it was worth it. "Don't want Vicky to feel too manly," he muttered, hiding Viktor's invitation deep in the pile. Grinning, he stuck the invites under his arm just as Hermione and Remus came back into the room.

"Thanks ever so much for your help, Remus, Harry," Hermione said. "We'd never have gotten it done so fast - or so beautifully - without you."

"Anytime, dear," Remus smiled. "It was a pleasure." He cast a dark look down the hallway. "I'm so sorry about Sirius' behaviour. He doesn't usually get like that."

"Just keep him under control at the wedding," Hermione said. "Please."

"I'll do my best."

After a few more kisses and goodbyes, Hermione and Ron Disapparated back to the Burrow. "We'd better send off those invites," Hermione said as they entered the kitchen.

"Okay," said Ron. "I- AAARGGHH!"

He had tripped over something and gone flying, invitations spilling out of his grasp and fluttering all over the kitchen floor.

"Oops, sorry, Ron!" Fred said hastily, running out of the living room with George on his tail. "Didn't realize you were home, I'd have warned you if I had known..."

"What did I trip over?" Ron groused, as he and Hermione began picking up the scattered invitations.

"Something we were working on - Invisible Trip Wire," George said apologetically. He and Fred knelt to help. "We were trying to get it to stay invisible once it's been tripped over, but apparently the shock lifts the Invisibility Charm..."

"Yeah," sighed Fred. "We've still got a bit of work..." He picked up an envelope and made to add it to the stack, but then his eyes widened and he began to laugh. He held the envelope out to George, who also started laughing.

"What is it?" Hermione asked worriedly, snatching the envelope from the twins.

There was a pause. Then Hermione lowered the envelope and glared at Ron with fire in her eyes.

**"****VICKY****!"**

_-_

_Upcoming attractions…._

**Ch/4: Girls and ****Boys**– Hermione and her bridesmaids go shopping for wedding clothes. Meanwhile on the home front, Sirius decides Ron needs a wedding makeover! With the help of blackmail, Harry, Remus, and - Draco- he is determined to turn Ron into the sexiest groom ever!


	4. Girls and Boys

A/N – Again, sorry this took awhile. Now that school's started up, we've both been kind of busy; but we're giving you Draco in this update, and also Tonks. So if you're a fan of either, you should like this one. Thanks to Fleur the First, from whom I – Liz – kinda stole the idea of a makeover from. Not that it hasn't already been done, of course- Also, thanks so much to all of our reviewers – you guys are the absolute best! Without further adieu, enjoy!

_"Girls and Boys"_

"He's all wrong."

Harry looked questioningly up at his godfather. Sirius had his head in his hands and seemed to be mentally debating something.

"He's definitely all wrong."

"Who is?" Harry asked curiously, laying down the _Daily Prophet_.

"Ron," Sirius replied.

"That's not very nice, love," Remus mumbled from behind his coffee mug and an enormous book on house-elf history (having finally become a supporter of S.P.E.W.).

"Sorry. But Ron needs help before the wedding!"

"With what?" Harry inquired.

"He needs a makeover!" Sirius announced.

"That's really not nice," Remus said with a frown.

"Oh, come on, you can't tell me Ron doesn't have the slightest clue on how to get all prettied up!"

Harry twitched. "I don't think Ron needs to be 'all prettied up'!"

Sirius put on the pleading puppy-dog look he used all the time on Remus to get what he wanted. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

Remus melted. Harry watched this in considerable alarm. He knew Sirius had a great deal of mysterious power over the mild-mannered professor, but only just now was he beginning to see the full extent of that power.

"Don't look into his eyes!" he wailed, tugging fruitlessly on Remus' arm.

"Maybe Siri has a point," Remus murmured in a dazed sort of way, not looking away from Sirius' eyes.

"It's too late. He got you!" Harry pouted, releasing Remus' arm.

"So you'll do it?" Sirius asked eagerly.

"Yes, of course, chérie," Remus breathed.

"I suppose," Harry groused.

Sirius actually clapped his hands like a small child and beamed. "I knew you would! Accio Parchment!" He caught the parchment as it zoomed into the kitchen, seized a quill from the pot on the table, and began scribbling notes. Halfway through, he paused.

"You know, we're really going to need someone high-class to help... no offense."

Remus and Harry shrugged. "None taken. Do what you want."

"But who..." Sirius mused, scratching his chin with the end of his quill and staring out the window thoughtfully.

The doorbell rang. When neither Sirius nor Remus showed any indication of coming out of their trances (Remus was still gazing at Sirius in a dreamy sort of way that reminded Harry forcefully of Luna), Harry heaved a sigh and went to answer the door.

It was Tonks, her hair in bright blue pigtails today. "Wotcher, Harry!"

"Hi," Harry replied with a grin. "What brings you here?"

"Come to visit my mum's favourite cousin," Tonks said cheerfully.

"He's in the kitchen," Harry said, leading her into the kitchen where his godfather was sitting (now with Remus in his lap). Remus blushed red and jumped up from his lap, leaving Sirius looking distinctly grumpy.

"Wotcher, Puppy!"

"I'll kill your mother for telling you my nickname." Sirius scowled.

"Just you try, Puppy."

"Shut up."

Tonks plopped down in the extra kitchen chair and fiddled with the end of an electric-blue braid. "You're plotting something, Sirius. I just know it. You look exactly like Mum when she's got it in for me."

"He wants to give Ron a makeover," Harry piped up helpfully as Remus rushed to pour Tonks a cup of coffee.

"Dear God," Tonks groaned.

"And he wants someone high-class to help."

Inexplicably, Tonks beamed. "How about Auntie Narcissa's brat? My cousin Draco?"

"Draco hates us, he'd never help," Harry muttered resentfully.

Tonks' smile brightened. "Yes he will. I know how to make him."

Sirius gave her a Look. "How?"

"Blackmail."

The raven-haired man stared. "Damn. Sweetie, you're becoming too much of a Black for your own good."

"I always wanted to be like you and Mum," Tonks said happily.

"How are you going to blackmail Draco?" Harry wanted to know.

Tonks snickered and took a sip of her coffee. "You forget. Draco may be a brat, but Mum's still his auntie. You wouldn't believe the incriminating photos we have of him."

Harry and Sirius snickered as well. "Sounds good," Harry commented as Remus clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

Tonks smiled. She waved her wand and a heavy leather-bound photo album fell out of the air. Tonks began flipping rapidly through page after page of moving, black-and-white photos, until she found what she was looking for.

"Aha!"

She held the picture out for their approval.

The picture was of Draco at about six years old, dressed in only a duck-printed pair of sleeping shorts. He was dancing and singing, and even though the moving picture had no sound, they knew at once what he was singing, because it was a very distinctive dance.

Draco Malfoy was singing "I'm A Little Teapot".

Harry and Sirius burst into hysterical laughter, tears running down their cheeks. Tonks was giggling so hard she was turning red. Even Remus was chuckling, though he was shaking his head and trying to appear disgusted.

"It's p-p-perfect!" Harry spluttered. "After we get him to help us, I'm keeping that picture! You never know when it might come in handy!"

"Spoken like a true son of Jim," Sirius grinned, "and a true godson of mine. Harry, you make me proud."

_-_

"Draco, there's post for you," Lucius Malfoy drawled, pulling a letter from the leg of an eagle owl and studying it critically. His wife peered suspiciously over his shoulder, then seized the letter.

"I know that handwriting! It's so familiar, but I can't remember whose it is..." Her brow furrowed in thought as she passed the letter to her son.

Draco shrugged and slit open the letter. A photograph fell out. He picked it up, and his eyes widened in horror.

It was a copy of a picture of himself at six, singing and dancing "I'm A Little Teapot".

"What is it, son?" Lucius inquired. Unable to answer, Draco pulled the letter out of the envelope with shaking hands and began to read.

'Dear Draco,

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Little Teapot! PRICELESS! Ye gods, I missed so much in Azkaban. Heheheh, I bet you're wondering who this is! Well, I'm Sirius Black! HAHAHA! REMEMBER ME! Harry's godfather! And your mother's cousin! (Say 'Hi' and 'Screw you!' to her from me!)

Oh, Remmie says to get on with it. So here is my proposal - you will come to 117 Smith Lane in Kent at precisely 11 o'clock TODAY and comply with every order we give you, or else you will see this picture in the 'Daily Prophet' and 'The Quibbler', not to mention on every telephone pole in Britain! HAHAHAHA!

Hugs and kisses,

Sirius'

Draco sat still in terror. He couldn't move or speak. If that picture got out, he'd be ruined! And he had no doubt at all that Black would be as bad as his word. He gulped.

"What is it, Draco?" Narcissa persisted.

His brain numb and frozen, Draco looked at her and mouthed wordlessly. Finally, he said the first thing that came into his mind.

"Screw you!"

_-_

"I knew it would work," Tonks said smugly from the front window, where she and Sirius were watching a thoroughly miserable Draco slouching down the drive.

"You go, girl," Sirius said, and he and Tonks high-fived each other.

Remus rolled his eyes at their juvenile behaviour and opened the door, smiling at Draco. "Hello, Draco. Come in, please."

"Out of my way, werewolf," Draco snapped.

Sirius made a noise like a buzzer. "No! Wrong! Unless you want EVERYONE to see you singing the teapot song, you be nice to Remus!"

"Sorry, Professor Lupin," Draco mumbled resentfully. He looked around the living room and longed to say something about its cluttered, slightly messy appearance, but decided not to. It was bound to tick Black off. So he turned resentfully to his mother's cousin and demanded, "What am I doing here?"

"You're going to help us give Ron a makeover," Sirius beamed. "For the wedding."

Draco couldn't help himself. "He's getting married? To the Mudblood?"

Sirius, Remus, Harry, and Tonks all made buzzer noises. "Keep your insults to yourself, Dracipoo," Sirius smirked.

Draco whirled around to face Tonks, red with rage. "YOU TRAITOR! You told them my NICKNAME!"

"Well, I don't recall you ever being nice to me when you were little. Or ever, really. It's fair payback," Tonks smiled sweetly.

"Shut up, Nymphadora!" Draco retorted.

"YOU DIE NOW!" Tonks screamed, lunging for his throat with her long nails. Sirius and Remus grabbed her just in time. At the same moment, the doorbell rang. Harry hastened to answer it while Tonks struggled to get at Draco's neck.

It was Ron. When Harry opened the door for him, his best friend whispered, "Er - are Sirius and Remus at it again?"

"No," Harry smiled. "Tonks is just trying to murder Draco."

Ron's eyes widened. "Draco? As in Draco Malfoy? What's HE doing here?"

"You'll see, I expect Sirius would rather tell you," Harry said, leading Ron inside. Ron gulped nervously.

Tonks had been restrained and successfully subdued. She and Draco were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, looking away from each other. Harry was forcefully reminded of Sirius and Snape. Remus and Sirius were crammed together in the big armchair. Remus was sitting on Sirius' lap and squirming uncomfortably every once in a while. Shuddering, Harry and Ron ignored the blush on Remus' cheeks and the naughty grin on Sirius' face, and sat down.

"I know you're all wondering why I asked you here," Sirius said. "I always wanted to say that!"

"But we all know, well, except for Ron," Harry said.

His godfather's face fell. "Oh, right." He cleared his throat. "Um - well then, Ron, I've invited you over for a very important reason. We're going to give you a makeover!"

"Y-y-you're going to - What!" Ron asked, hoping he had heard Sirius wrong.

"Give you a makeover," Sirius repeated, slowly and patiently.

"I need one?"

"God, YES!" Sirius blurted. Draco sniggered appreciatively as Ron flushed and Remus smacked Sirius upside the head.

"Er - I mean, it might be fun," Sirius said lamely.

"Then what is Draco doing here?" Ron demanded with an angry glare in the blonde's direction.

"Easy, Weasley. I'm high quality. I'm here to make sure these... uncouth ... people don't flub you up too badly."

Ron winced at the sound of that as Sirius seized him by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen, where a variety of lethal-looking things were scattered all over the counters. He allowed himself to be seated on a stool and Tonks draped him in a sheet. Ron felt rather like he was at the barber's; or, more accurately, in a chamber of tortures.

"Ummm... Sirius... d'you know what you're doing?" Ron asked nervously as Sirius ran a hand through his waist-length hair, studying the random things laying on the counters.

"I'm good at this, you'll thank me when I'm done," Sirius replied, picking up a strange steel instrument and studying it critically.

"Sirius... is that an eyelash curler!" Tonks demanded.

He apparently decided to ignore that. Draco sniggered as Sirius turned back to Ron and said airily, "I'm good with makeup. Just you wait and see."

Remus, who was perched on the counter with a book entitled 101 Beauty Disasters And How To Fix Them By Magic, looked up. "The thing about Sirius is he was a glam rock fan as a teenager." He eyed his lover as Sirius grabbed Ron by the chin and tiled his head this way and that, trying to see Ron's face from all angles. "He used to wear makeup every day. And I mean every day."

"You never complained when I left lipstick smears all over your collar," Sirius mumbled absently, shaking his hair out of his eyes and sighing softly at Ron's freckles.

"He nearly gave poor Minerva a heart attack when he walked into her class wearing spangly purple eye shadow."

"And when I got out of detention that night, you couldn't keep your hands off me," Sirius said. "I looked hot, admit it."

"Please, let's not discuss this," Harry begged, while Draco looked revolted. Ron wanted to nod, but Sirius had his chin in a vise-like grip and he couldn't move his head at all.

"What bleaches out freckles?" Sirius asked Tonks in despair.

"Buttermilk - no, lemons - um, one or the other, I'm not sure which," his cousin confessed.

"Dammit! Draco, do you know?"

"I don't have any freckles to bleach," Draco said smoothly. "Ask Weasley's mother."

"D'you want some of this?" Sirius snarled, holding up a compact of hideous green eyeliner. Draco's mouth snapped shut and he shook his head, eyes wide with fear.

"Then do shut up. Remmie, what does it say about freckles in that book?"

"Nothing! It mentions something called spattergroit, of which I have absolutely no idea what it is, and the cure's absurd - something about standing naked in a barrel of eels' eyes -"

"I HAVE NOT GOT SPATTERGROIT!" Ron shrieked, wrenching his jaw free of Sirius' grip.

Everyone stared at him. He was fuming.

"Touch-ee," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "All right, all right - Tonks, sweetie, run out to the nearest Muggle market and get some lemons, lemon juice, and buttermilk. Oh, and one of those little lemon-shaped bottles with the lemon zest-drink-stuff in it. We'll try it all."

"And avocados!" Remus called after Tonks as she seized her purse and disappeared around the corner. Her bright blue pigtails hadn't even fluttered out of sight before her head popped back into the kitchen.

"Avocados?"

"Yes, dear! An avocado paste is supposed to be wonderful for your skin - at least, that's what Mother always told me," Remus said. "Hurry, now, run along!"

Tonks saluted and ran out the door. Sirius, meanwhile, had seized a washcloth and was now scrubbing Ron's face vigorously with soapy water. Ron spluttered and coughed out bubbles. "S-S-Sirius! STOP IT!"

"You need to look nice," Sirius said determinedly, still scrubbing.

"It's called exfoliation, Weasley," Draco said, rolling his eyes. He leaned against the counter, eyeing Remus, who was feverishly tearing through his book.

"Nothing!" he cried in despair, throwing the book down. "There's no cure for freckles!"

"Maybe we should try the spattergroit thing," Sirius muttered. He tossed the washcloth into the sink in disgust as Tonks returned with a bugling paper sack in her arms.

"I think I got everything you wanted. They didn't have the lemon-zest-drink-stuff, though, so we'll have to make do with what's in here. By the way, why did you want it? It's not good to use on Ron's face."

"I wanted to put it in my margaritas," Sirius mumbled. "Okay. Draco, Remmie, we need a hole."

"A hole?" Remus asked in confusion, while Draco mumbled, "I'm so not digging a hole, you pouf."

"I heard that," Sirius growled, seizing Ron by the arm and dragging him out into the rather large garden behind the house. He pointed to a large patch of bare grass. "We need a hole. Right there!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to give Ron a mud bath."

And so Remus and Draco were forced to dig a hole for Ron. It wasn't very hard, seeing as it didn't have to be exceptionally deep, and they used magic to do it, but Draco glared at Sirius the whole time and imagined hitting him over the head with the shovel in his hand. While they dug, Harry and Sirius magicked the dirt from the hole into a large tub and mixed it with water to make a lovely, thick batch of mud.

"Okay, Ron, come here!" Tonks said brightly as this was going on. She emerged from the house carrying a plate full of sliced cucumber and a large bowl of green paste. "It's time for your avocado facial! Take off your shirt."

Ron really didn't fancy any of this, and if he could be sure Sirius would never find him again, he would have bolted. But Sirius was like an annoying younger sibling; always hanging about and causing misery. He was even worse when he wanted something, and not just sex or alcohol. Ron knew very well that resistance was futile, so he took off his shirt and allowed Tonks to begin smearing his face and neck with the truly revolting-feeling paste. It stunk to high heaven.

"Done!" Tonks and Sirius both proclaimed at the same time. Ron winced at the feel of the goo on his face and eyed the vat of mud and the empty hole apprehensively.

"Go on then, hop in," Harry grinned, trying and failing to hide his amusement at Ron's avocado-smeared face.

"In my clothes?"

"No, stupid! Get undressed first!" Sirius said impatiently.

Ron's eyes widened in shock and he shook his head hard enough to send small gobbets of green goo flying from his face. "No way, uh-uh! You can't make me! I refuse!"

Sirius' dark blue eyes suddenly turned pure black. "Get in there or I will undress - you - myself."

"Okay, okay! Please don't hurt me!" Ron begged. "At least turn around first!"

"Gladly," Draco murmured as they did so. After checking to make sure none of them were peeking, Ron undressed quickly and jumped in the hole.

"Okay, I'm in! Don't look!" Ron yelled.

"I'm not," Sirius muttered with his eyes closed, feeling his way over to the vat of mud. "Okay, on the count of three - one - two -THREE!"

He pushed the vat over, sending mud cascading into the hole and over Ron. Ron shrieked like a small girl as the mud covered him. It was cold! He was terribly afraid that he would end up buried, but when the last of the mud stopped dripping from the vat, his head and neck were still goo-free. Well, almost. He was still smeared with avocado paste.

Tonks placed a folded towel behind his neck. "Lay your head back, Ron, and close your eyes." Ron did as he was told and felt something heavy placed on his eyelids.

"Hey, what is that!"

"Sliced cucumber. We'll be back in an hour, we have to go figure out a recipe for a freckle-bleaching potion. Relax, take a nap or something."

Ron sighed as he heard their footsteps go up the garden path and then the screen door swing shut. This was going to be the longest hour of his life.

Five Hours Later

"...But if we already used the avocado paste, then we don't need the buttermilk?" Sirius asked slowly.

Draco rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of impatience. "For the billionth time, Black, yes. After his facial we'll try the lemon juice. And if that doesn't work, too bad. He'll just have to be a befreckled groom." He turned away from Sirius and muttered, "And if Granger runs away from him screaming, serve him right." Ignoring the reproving glare this earned from Tonks, Draco slouched against the corner and scowled his hardest, waiting for Sirius to start asking more stupid questions.

But while Sirius was still struggling with this new concept, a shout was heard from outside.

"SIRIUS, YOU FRIGGING POUF! I COULD KILL YOU! AND WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, I THINK I WILL!"

"Weasley calls," Draco smirked as Sirius looked up at the clock, winced, and ran out into the garden. The others followed at a more leisurely pace, just in time to hear Sirius moan, "Oh, shite."

"What is it, love?" Remus inquired.

Sirius, kneeling by the mud bath, and Ron, now with the cucumbers off his eyes, glared up at him. "The sodding mud's dried up," Sirius snarled in response.

"Oh, no!" Remus cried despairingly, dropping to his knees and rapping his knuckles against the top of the bath. Sure enough, the mud which had been so nice and gloopy five hours earlier was now dried back into dirt, firmly encasing Ron in the ground from the neck down.

"You put him in the sun," Draco pointed out dryly. "And in case you forgot, Britain's in the midst of a heat wave. It's ninety degrees outside today."

"Get me out!" Ron wailed unhappily. "It's hot in here! And this goop on my face feels really crusty and unpleasant!"

Harry felt a pang of sympathy for his best friend and dropped down on one knee to console him. "Don't worry, Ron. We'll get you out of there... w-won't we?" he said, this uncertain last directed to his godfather and Remus, who were supposed to be the responsible adults here.

Draco smirked widely. "Weasley's mum will kill you when she finds this out," he informed Sirius, who attempted to bite him. Draco shrieked and jumped behind Harry to shield himself. Harry pushed him away in disgust and got up, brushing grass from the knees of his trousers.

"What now?"

"We'll have to dig him out," Sirius said grimly, picking up one of the enchanted shovels.

Ron spluttered. "What! Sirius, I'm not wearing anything!"

"Look. Either we can dig you out and you can bear us getting a glimpse of your neither regions, or you can stay there in the ground for the rest of your life with crud on your face, and Remmie can use your head as a garden decoration. Which one shall it be?"

"Digging," Ron whimpered pathetically.

"Good boy."

_-_

Two hours later, Ron had been freed from the mud bath and allowed to take a shower to remove the dirt and avocado paste from himself. Scowling, he was now dressed in his boxers and Harry's bathrobe, being forced to stand as Sirius, Remus, and Draco studied him critically.

"You can't go on wearing what you wear," Sirius instructed him. "I mean, the sweaters your mum knits for you are all fine and dandy, but you are in desperate need of new shirts, trousers, shoes - and accessories, of course."

"Accessories?" Ron asked warily.

"You know, belts, jewelry, stuff like that. To add a little personality to the outfit, you get it? Anyway, I'm going to fetch some of my best clothes and you can try them on."

Ron shuddered as Sirius ran off. Today the older man was wearing skin-tight bellbottom jeans, an equally tight black t-shirt with the legend 'Born Wild' on it in pink glitter, three-inch platforms, and had his long hair pulled back with a glittery pink scrunchie that exactly matched the glitter on his shirt. Under ordinary circumstances, there was no way in hell Ron would have willingly worn anything that came from the depths of Sirius' wardrobe; but right now he was just feeling too bloody tired to argue. He tried to ignore the sniggers he was getting from Draco over his Pokemon boxer shorts and waited apprehensively for Harry's godfather to return.

And return he did a few minutes later, dragging an enormous cardboard box. "Okay. The stuff might be a little musty; I haven't worn most of the lot since I was nineteen or so - oooh! I love these pants!" He proudly displayed a pair of hideous bellbottoms striped in different shades of blue and green. "I missed you!" he said to the bellbottoms, hugging them tight. Everyone else in the room twitched, even Remus' family in the picture over the mantle.

"I - am - NOT - WEARING - THOSE - THINGS," Ron stated.

"What's wrong with them?" Sirius pondered. "Okay, they need to be washed, and there's a Clark Bar wrapper from 1979 in the pocket, but they're still good! They're still good!"

"No offense, Sirius, but they're ugly," Harry said, gently prying the blinding trousers from his godfather's grasp. He stuffed them under a sofa cushion so nobody had to look at them anymore. "We all appreciate that you're trying to help Ron, but I don't think Hermione wants him to dress too outrageously."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I don't think she'd like those - on me, I mean. On you, I'm sure they're... just gorgeous." He and Harry avoided looking at each other lest they be tempted to burst into giggles.

Tonks saved them the trouble. She started giggling as she pulled a bight yellow t-shirt out of the box and looked at it. They all looked at her questioningly until she held it out to them. On the front was a picture of a man - at least, Ron thought it was a man - with blue hair, blue eyeshadow, and sliver lipstick. Sirius snatched the shirt away from Tonks and hugged it.

"Maxwell Demon! I love this shirt!"

"Please, don't wear it with those pants!" Harry blurted, absolutely terrified at the prospect. Sirius pouted, but before he could say anything Remus had plucked a plain white dress shirt from the box and was holding it up to Ron. He looked questioningly at Draco.

"Too nerdy," Draco snapped.

Remus put the shirt aside and held a maroon pair of bellbottoms up to Ron (Ron shuddered).

"Too... promiscuous."

(Sirius beamed.)

An orange turtleneck sweater.

"Too ugly..."

Brown dress trousers.

"Where's the blazer with the leather patches?"

A green vest and navy trousers...

"Too tacky..."

_-_

"AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"

Sirius flung down the last article of clothing with a bloodcurdling scream. He glowered at Draco and blew a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "Okay. You've rejected every piece of clothing I own and every combination we can come up with. According to you, Ron can't wear anything without looking stupid, tacky, or slutty. So, Mr. I-Know-All-About-Fashion, tell me. What does your ideal man wear!"

Draco beamed. "I thought you'd never ask, Black." He scooped up an armload of clothes. "Wait here," he ordered, before disappearing into the bathroom.

The others sat silently. Ron was trembling. Everything he had been through in life - the random encounters with Lord Voldemort at Hogwarts along with Harry; the few days when everyone had thought Sirius had been dead; even asking Hermione's parents for permission to marry her, paled in comparison to what he had just seen. Sirius' clothes were uglier than Hagrid's beloved Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"Okay, here I come!" Draco called.

And he entered the room. Ron's eyes bugged out. Draco was wearing what looked like the maroon bellbottoms, but they were leather and matched the vest he wore – unzippered, with nothing but a long-sleeved fishnet, low-cut top underneath. His hair was, of course, perfectly gelled, and Ron _thought_ Draco was wearing make-up, but had to look away before he could be sure. To make matters worse, the pants were tight enough that you could probably see Draco's physical characteristics from Mars. Without a telescope.

It was even scarier seeing Sirius' ugly clothes on Draco than it was to see them laid out on the floor.

So Ron did the only thing he could do.

He fainted.

_-_

While the boys-plus-Tonks were trying their beauty regimen on Ron, the girls had decided it would be the perfect time for some hard-core wedding shopping. Hermione fiddled with her seat belt, buckling and unbuckling it nervously. With dumbfounded expressions plastered on their faces, Lavender, Parvati, Katie, Alicia, and Luna looked on. Ginny wondered faintly if a love of speech-making was a communicable disease and Percy had somehow transmitted it to Hermione. "Remember," the bushy-haired girl intoned firmly, "I chose you as my bridesmaids… and this is the one matter that really concerns you all… so we have to take it very, very, very seriously… are you listening to me?"

Ginny's eyes were crossed, Alicia kept shooting longing looks outside, and Katie was examining her own engagement ring, which was the size of a rather large bolder. Lavender was studying her pink nail polish for chips, and Parvati was re-braiding her long, fine hair. Luna was staring into space, per usual.

"Um, Hermione?" Angelina asked from beside her. She looked left and right and switched on her blinker. "Could you lighten up a little bit? You're scaring us, and it's just some bridesmaids' dresses-"

"And a wedding dress," Hermione cut in testily. "For when I get _married_."

Angelina sighed and stole a quick look at her fretting friend; Hermione was chewing her bottom lip. "Look… it's only a stupid dress."

"That's easy for you to say? You got married in jeans!"

Parvati dropped her hair and nudged Lavender, who looked up from her nails. "The bride's getting a little nervous now that the date's set in, isn't she?"

"Mm," Lavender murmured in agreement, looking down again. "I wonder if sequined nails are too extravagant for a wedding…?"

_-_

A half an hour and four Hermione-speeches later, Angelina maneuvered her parents' slightly beat-up, very dented mini-van into a narrow parking spot in front of _Belinda Bouvier's Bridal Boutique_. All the girls piled out, Hermione looking calmer than she had been on the way down. Lavender jabbed Parvati in the ribs with her elbow and the two dissolved into peals of laughter at the lingerie store next door. "That's where we're going to get your shower present!" Parvati squealed.

Angelina shook her head and led Katie, Ginny, Alicia, Luna, and a very pale Hermione into the store, leaving Lavender and Parvati cackling on the curb.

"This place is… large…." Ginny, eyes wide, gazed out at a sea of dresses: long, short, white, polka-dotted – _Belinda's_ seemed to have it all. Alicia squeaked.

Luna seemed to come down to earth. "I've never seen so many ribbons… or bows… or so much _lace_ in my life!" Katie raised her eyebrows at Luna, who was wearing a considerable amount of lace herself.

Lavender and Parvati, still giggling, moved in beside Luna and shrieked with delight. "Shopping!" Parvati grinned. "You're lucky to have the experts with you." Lavender nodded.

Ginny ran a hand through her red waves and sighed. "Where do we start?"

Rolling her eyes, Lavender pointed to the left. "That's where I go. Parvati takes the right. We meet back here in," she glanced at her watch quickly and held a silent conversation with Parvati's eyes, "two hours with a dress we like. We can find the wedding dress _after_ that!" She and Parvati were positively glowing with excitement.

"I know! Let's synchronize watches!"

Alicia turned to Parvati and growled, "It's only a shopping trip, not the Army."

Parvati glared back. "This is more important than the Army. They wear those God-awful fatigues… and this is _real_ fashion!"

"No, it's a stupid _dress_," Alicia shot back bitterly.

Lavender went to retort, but was interrupted by Katie, who stepped in between them, holding her hand up to the light. "Isn't this ring _gorgeous_!" she exclaimed, diffusing the potential argument with something perfectly pointless.

Luna tapped her chin. "You could use that to feed a third world country…."

"Two hours to _shop_?" Ginny squirmed.

Angelina plunked herself in a chair and whined, "I still don't see why we need dresses…."

"_Watches_!" Parvati sang irritably.

Hermione could feel a headache coming on – coupled with the weird dancing-stomach feeling she seemed to get now whenever the wedding was mentioned.

_-_

So in the end they ended up synchronizing watches, despite Angelina and Alicia's vehement objections. It was, as Ginny pointed out, the smart thing to do – otherwise Parvati and Lavender would shop for hours and hours. As it was, the girls took well over the allotted two hours to meet in the procured section; Lavender and Parvati insisted on dancing to the soundtracks for both _Footloose_ and _Grease_, swearing up and down that it helped them concentrate on shopping. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia, despite groans from Ginny and Luna, warbled a badly-sung version of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun", which ended abruptly when Blair, stand-in for Belinda, threatened to boot the girls from the shop and they could "have fun" elsewhere. Lavender and Parvati were halfway out the door when Hermione half-heartedly reminded them that there was no other decent wedding boutique for miles around.

And so it was with a heavy heart that Hermione watched her bridesmaids re-assemble before her, each hiding what they had found behind their backs – or rather, in Luna's case, trying and failing miserably due to the bulk of the dress. She was apprehensive to see what they had chosen – especially Lavender, who was shaking her head furtively in Parvati's general direction.

"So," Ginny leaned back into the rack of dresses behind her… and immediately jumped up, poked by sequins and what she _thought_ was a fake flower. She wondered why they had chosen to hang in the half-price reject-disco aisle; and then it dawned on her that the styles were ninety years old and they wouldn't be bothering anyone by lounging over ancient leisure suits that had probably been revamped for outdoor hippie weddings.

Lavender squealed. "I call last!" Ginny glared, and Lavender shrank back: "Well I don't _have_ to be…."

Angelina sighed and shrugged. "I _still_ say we should walk down the aisle in jeans. It's not like it matters much what _we_ wear…."

Parvati looked scandalized, but before she could say anything, Ginny broke in. "Look, should I show you my idea first? It's fairly tame…." And from behind her back, Ginny pulled out the most hideous dress known to man – er, woman.

Ginny, who at the moment was wearing a short red skirt and pink t-shirt, was anything but fashion-challenged. In fact, though she hated to shop, her style rivaled that of even Parvati's. Which is why everyone was equally shocked by the frock Ginny pulled to display to the group.

Angelina gasped at the high neck; Alicia gasped at the drop waist. Luna gasped at the lacy cuffs, and both Katie and Lavender gasped at the fabric – off-pink polyester. Parvati gasped at the boring hem, and was indeed the only person who would even _think_ of gasping at something as trivial as a boring hem – and Hermione… well, Hermione just gasped.

"It's so… _boring_..." Hermione cried in dismay.

"Well, I was _going_ for traditional."

Parvati clucked her tongue and leaned into Lavender. "I think traditional is right. That's left over from the God-awful colonial era." Ginny huffed.

"Don't worry, Alicia and I will save this monstrosity!" grinned Angelina, and together they pulled from a nearby rack a (carefully hidden) cream pantsuit. The top was edged with lace and beads, and the bottom tapered off into tasteful cuffs; Parvati and Lavender ohh'ed and ahh'ed over the design. In fact, it would have been downright beautiful – had they not overlooked one tiny little detail.

"Guys, I told you I didn't want pants!"

Alicia and Angelina visibly deflated.

Hermione tried to rectify her mistake. "Look, guys, it's gorgeous… and normally I'd say I love it… but this is a big deal, and I wanted _dresses_…." She looked down into their puppy-dog eyes and shook her head. "No! Luna, may we see your pick?"

Luna hesitantly glanced behind her back. "I don't know… promise not to yell at me?" Hermione nodded slowly, and Luna, grateful not to have to hide the dress any longer, let it poof from the confines of her back.

"It's like a fairy princess dress…" Luna explained as the girls collectively took in the long bell sleeves, full and pouffy; the low-cut top and tight, fitted bodice; the long, tapering skirt that hugged the legs and flattered only the tiniest of girls, which Luna and Ginny, but no one else, were. She shrugged and laid the dress down. "I dunno, I just thought…."

"It actually had potential. I like this blue a lot… and the top is fairly nice." Coming from Angelina this was high praise. "Maybe we should see the others and put this one aside for now."

Hermione nodded in agreement and turned to Lavender and Parvati. "Your turn, guys."

"Wait! Ours have to be seen _on_ a person… give us a second and we'll have them on." Hermione sighed as they skipped to the dressing rooms, but true to Parvati's words, they took less then thirty seconds before they unveiled themselves.

"Ta-_da_!" Lavender twirled and struck a pose; Parvati leaned against her and smiled seductively, a la 'model'. "What do you think?"

Hermione, to say the least, was in shock.

Ginny caught her before she fainted. "Er, Lavender? Isn't it a little… _short_?"

'Short' was an understatement. Lavender's partiality towards high-cut dresses had been taken to a new level; cut at least a foot and a half above her knee, Alicia could only shake her head at the indecency. The fire engine-red top was fairly respectable – which was more than they could say for Parvati's dress.

It was a well-known fact around all of Hogwarts that Parvati was… well-endowed… and liked to show that off. She had also taken that to new heights. With a top cut below her belly button, Angelina noted that she looked like a sad cross between Britney Spears and J.Lo.

A _very_ sad cross.

"Risqué, huh?" She grinned.

"My _ass_!" Immediately everyone turned to Hermione, who they had never heard swear in such a high voice; Ginny put an arm around her and Hermione shrugged it off. "You're turning my _wedding_ – which, by the way, we are holding in a _chapel_ – into some kind of Hooters strip club!"

Katie backed into the sea of polyester dresses and Parvati muttered, "Hooters is quality family dining."

No one knew quite what to say. Hermione, though usually very calm, could get hysterical now that her wedding was approaching. Slowly, Ginny cast a sidelong glance at the older girl and turned to Katie, ignoring Parvati and Lavender's hurt looks. "Katie, can we see what you picked out?"

"No, I… no." She once again retreated to the sequined rack.

"Let me see." Ginny held out a hand.

"No."

"_Yes_." With the scariest evil eye she could muster, Ginny motioned for Angelina and Alicia to converge on a wide-eyed Katie; from behind her they dragged a long, pouffy sea foam green skirt and a strapless top that tapered in front.

No one spoke for a moment. Then—

"That's the dress. It's not low-cut, the bottom is decent, it doesn't cover up everything, and it's pretty. Does anyone disagree?"

No one dared say a thing to Hermione – except for Angelina, who squeaked, "Can we use the blue and the top from Luna's dress?"

Hermione just nodded faintly and traced the silver embroidery with a finger; she was downright creepy sometimes when she was angry.

_-_

Hermione, laden with shopping bag after shopping bag, trudged into the house she shared with her fiancé. She and the girls had, after bickering, numerous fights, and one escapade in which Lavender and Parvati had threatened to streak in the middle of the exchange of vows, finally chosen the design and material her wedding dress would be made out of. Luna, surprisingly, had helped in the design, modeled after some fantasy comic book she apparently collected, coupled with what the "Queen of Snorlak, Daddy says there's actually a planet called that but astronomers deny ever finding such a place" would wear on her 125th ceremonial crowning. Whatever. All Hermione knew was Luna was a fashion genius (albeit a rather flighty one), and Katie, after exclaiming over and over how wonderful her ring was, had picked out the most lovely fabric in the store.

Hermione had made one other decision: she was going to the florists' _alone_. Or maybe with Harry; after all, he sometimes had nice taste. That and he wouldn't threaten to flash anyone. Hermione wasn't sure whether to sigh or grin.

Ron poked his head from the kitchen, covered completely from head to toe in a black trench coat and ski cap. Hermione guessed he wasn't thrilled with the results of his makeover, but was much too tired to ask; she just shrugged when he tried to kiss her through his fabric; the mouth hole was somewhere near his nose.

"Hello to you, too," he mumbled.

She just sighed again and plopped onto their secondhand couch; Ron plopped next to her, and she laid her head on his shoulder. "It was a long day, okay?"

He nodded empathetically. "Don't I know it." She guessed he was sweating under those yards of black, but didn't comment. Sometimes Ron was just weird, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"How'd the treatment go?"

"They tried to bleach my freckles," he moaned. "But Sirius couldn't quite grasp what Draco was saying, so I think they abandoned the idea after they left me in a vat of mud for hours on end and thought about having me stand naked in a barrelful of eels or something like that."

Hermione frowned. "Poor baby… I _like_ your freckles."

"At least someone does," he muttered, while Hermione tried to kiss him, remembered the stupid ski mask, and just snuggled closer. "D'you want to see something else?"

Ron took off the trench coat and gestured down towards his black button-up shirt and khaki cargo pants, which Hermione thought were perfectly nice and very un-Ron (but that was a good thing, she noted: very, very good). Apparently, Ron wasn't as pleased with the result as she was.

"Well, I'm not Draco's 'ideal man'-" (Hermione shuddered) "-but he said I looked 'hot'." Hermione raised an eyebrow and Ron held up his hands. "Okay, so it took him a few minutes to reassure me that I didn't look as good as he did, but I swear he said that. And no, before you ask, I am _not_ taking off this cap."

"Fair enough." She was too tired to argue. "But I think you look hot, too."

Ron grinned. "Thanks. It means more from you than coming from Draco."

"I should hope so!" He reached to peek in her shopping bag and she swatted his hand away. "You can't see the fabric for the dress until the day of the wedding." He sighed and sat back; he might have been smiling.

"Okay then, can you tell me what you _didn't_ pick?" That technically wasn't breaking any laws of wedding-hood so Hermione snuggled back into him and nodded.

"Well, I put my foot down at pants, like Angelina wanted."

"Like at her wedding?" Hermione nodded and Ron chuckled. "Go on."

She fingered a button on his coat. "Um… I won't be going as a Puritan or a nun."

He turned to face her. "Ginny's idea? She was always one for total all-covering weddings."

"Yeah, I know." She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist, head on his chest. "Well, I won't be wearing a top that falls past my waist and a bottom that's higher than my hips."

He didn't say anything for a moment and then turned to Hermione again; he smiled seductively, or about as seductively as you could while wearing a ski mask, and tried to wiggle his eyebrows. "I'd like to see you girls in something like that. Parvati's hot."

In no time flat Ron was on the front porch and the door was locked.

It had been a long day, and she was sick of men. He could sleep at Harry's.

_-_

_Upcom__ing attractions…._

**Ch/5: A Box Full of Sharp Objects – **Ginny, acting as a good maid-of-honour, plans to give Hermione "the best wedding shower ever". Things go downhill when Ginny finds out the "best shower" costs a lot more than she intended. While the engaged couple open gifts, Ginny ropes Harry into a hare-brained scheme to get the money….


	5. A Box Full Of Sharp Objects

A/N – Again, this is a chapter that took awhile… but it was heaps of fun to write, and I hope it's worth the wait for our faithful reviewers. To Jessica and Dimgwrthien Adeline, thanks so much for the reviews… WardenMistress – Sorry it's so long! It's just so much fun to write, we never want to stop! Kady Rilla Wholi – We're so glad you like the fic! Bronfelen – We love you, too! Ron definitely is the man… and Draco's pretty awesome too. For a stuck-up little prat, he's so much fun to write. Everyone who's reviewed in the past… thanks a whole lot! You're just awesome – have a cookie. You deserve it.

Anyway, back to this chapter… For the more Harry/Ginny-oriented, this chapter's full of them, and Draco, once again, makes an appearance. The title also has very little to so with the main plot of this chapter (wait… we have a plot?), but it's really the only thing that could fit. At all. Without further adieu… read on… and enjoy!

_"A Box Full of Sharp Objects"_

Ginny walked down the hall towards the kitchen, red hair swishing like a perky Marcia Brady, double-checking every detail for Hermione's Giant Blow-out Bridal Party Extravaganza – term coined by Ginevra Weasley, all rights reserved. Hermione was, now that the wedding was fast approaching, a quivering blob: ready to cry at anything, or else blow up at the slightest thing. As maid-of-honor, Ginny owed it to her closest friend to get her perked for the wedding again, happy as ever – er, happy as she could be when dealing with Ron and his on-again, off-again stupidity. Lavender had given her the idea of a make-over, with beauty tips and facial cream, but, seeing just how well that went over with Ron and the male crew, Ginny quickly vetoed the idea.

This was going to be, Ginny knew, fantastic. She had planned an all-you-can eat dinner buffet and a live orchestra at the ritziest country club in town, and she had bought them a giant present – a wide-screen Muggle 'television', whose purpose remained unknown to Ginny, but she had been reassured by Harry that it would give Ron something to do while he loafed around looking for a job, and maybe Hermione would become a bit of an addict, if all went well. Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that Harry wanted the 'television' to suit his newfound soap-opera obsession. Maybe living for years without T.V. had turned Harry's brain to mush, but Ginny found it easier to agree.

Ginny squealed. This was going to be more like a party than just an ordinary wedding shower. And it would be sure to lift Hermione's spirits.

She ran her finger down the checklist she had gotten from José, the event coordinator. He had outright refused to let her see the price list when they had been going over and over things like filet mignon for everyone, but thought that maybe she should take a look at it before the owners confronted her for the money the day of the shower. Not that it was a problem or anything, he assured her, but just essential. 'I mean, I have pulls, you can always pay after, if you need to, no rush, but they want a sum of the money on the day of the shower.'

Well, no way, José. Ginny Weasley paid on time. After all, the total amount only came to… £8,872.30?

A dry lump was already forming in her throat as she looked over all the calculations, everything accounted for. So maybe she didn't need the ice sculpture swans, but they were pretty… and she wanted the professional decorating, she had to have it… it was that stupid television that Harry practically forced on her. Damn Muggles and their stupid inventions: damn Harry and his ridiculous schemes to get what he wanted.

Ginny's eyes glazed over as she continued to curse everyone on earth, starting with the obvious, José and herself, and then Ron, for making Hermione so crazy that she needed this huge shower, and then the British government and economy for making icy swans and lace doilies so expensive. A maniacal, fanatical gleam rose in her eyes, equivalent to the scale of a mad television evangelist: it was all television's fault. It was all their fault (whoever _they_ were).

But mostly, it was Harry's. And Harry would either help her pay, or suffer the consequences.

_-_

Harry looked up from his spare piece of parchment: a large owl diverted his attention from plans of killing Snape and world domination. Ah, well, it wasn't healthy to be focused on one task for so long.

The owl nipped his finger, and he sighed, pulling a tiny scrap of parchment off its leg. He pondered over it for a second, patted the owl's head, and leaned back in his chair: these suspension-causing maneuvers helped build… well, suspense. And, though Harry had had enough suspense for a lifetime, between his countless defeats of the Dark Lord and never knowing if his godfather was alive, the whole bit, he was one who not just caused delays, but liked them a little bit, too. So he sat.

And sat. No one wrote him, save Hermione and Ron, and the occasional 'Try-Me!' subscription for the "Daily Prophet". True, it could be some fanmail that had leaked through the faulty post-owl system, but more than likely –

Aw, forget it. Without another thought, Harry opened the parchment and scanned the tidy-but-hastily-scrawled writing. And stared.

And stared.

And _sighed_. Someone was sending him threatening letters again. It was getting old, fast.

But wait just a gosh-darn minute! It was signed… 'Meet-me-at-the-church-curb-in-St. Catchpole-I-need-money-If-you-don't-show-don't-expect-a-Christmas-present-Love-Ginny.' Ginny? _Weasley_?

Not exactly the most threatening note of all times, but then again, Ginny wasn't really an imposing person. Nevertheless, Harry figured he should comply with her wishes, especially if she needed money and was in trouble.

He sighed again. Plotting world domination could wait.

_-_

Harry strode right up the cobbled main streets, following a spire protruding into the sky that signified the really old, really big church Ginny had been talking about. It had only taken a few seconds to Apparate there, but as he'd had to be careful to do it in a place no one would notice, he still had to walk through town and actually find his best friend's sister. Which, sadly enough, was proving increasingly more difficult than he had predicted.

There was no one around the church, except for an old, blind beggar with dark glasses who was sitting on the curb, a tattered suitcase lying in front of him. No sign of a fiery redhead bent on hitting him up for money she assumed he owed her.

Hold on… that wasn't a blind beggar, Harry knew. The suitcase spread almost practically in the street wasn't old and tattered; it wasn't new, but it wasn't tattered. _Too_ badly, anyway. And those glasses… were not regular glasses. He squinted in the sunlight; those looked exactly like the sunglasses he had given Ginny the Christmas before, with the silvery monogrammed 'GW' in the corners. And he knew that fiery hair hastily shoved up under that little bowler…

And he knew he knew who the person was when she lowered the glasses and took off the hat and exclaimed, "Harry!" eliciting shocked looks from several passers-by. I mean, come on, the red hair was a dead giveaway. Who else was a natural redhead with natural curls?

"Ginny?" he questioned. She nodded, but pulled the glasses back over her eyes.

"Shh," she hissed. "Alms for the poor…."

Harry raised an eyebrow and took her glasses. "What are you doing? And you stole that from Robin Hood, you know."

"I know that, but I don't know how you know," she huffed, closing up her suitcase as strange looks were thrown her way. "Come on, follow me, we're being watched…."

Harry raised an eyebrow – again – and looped his arm through Ginny's: the two talked under their breath as they strolled along, seemingly merrily. Too bad it was more like a secret spy meeting for the monetarily challenged. "So, what were you doing?" he repeated.

Ginny looked back and forth. "Well, it's like this. I planned this big shower for Hermione, and then I realised how much it cost…"

"Don't tell me," he interrupted, "You dressed up as a blind person to win sympathy – and pence."

Ginny squirmed. "Well, when you put it that way…."

_-_

"Oh, look how beautiful!" Katie exclaimed, as she and the other bridesmaids ushered Hermione into the gorgeously decorated hall where the shower was taking place.

"Katie, will you please stop staring at your ring!" Angelina demanded in an exasperated voice.

Katie jumped and looked up from her engagement ring. "Oh, sorry!" She looked around the hall and gasped. "Oh, it's lovely!"

"Ginny did a wonderful job," Alicia said admiringly.

Blue streamers and ribbons hung from the ceiling and bedecked the crystal chandeliers. Blue and sliver glitter littered the blue tablecloths, and each table had a unique centerpiece - exquisitely carved ice sculptures in the shape of swans. A white arch stood in the middle of the room, flanked by two plastic trees adorned with lights. Two white chairs, one marked 'Bride' and the other 'Groom' sat in front of the arch. Blue balloons floated up near the ceiling. In fact, almost everything was blue - it was Hermione's favourite colour. As the bride-to-be took in this glamorous sight, her heart lifted and her bad mood melted away.

"Oooooh, look!" Parvati squealed, pointing to one of the corners, where a stage had been erected. Standing on it were a piano, drums, a cello, a harp, and a flute.

Lavender sighed enviously. "A live orchestra's going to be playing? I have _got_ to have Ginny organize my wedding shower!"

"Speaking of which, where is she?" Alicia asked curiously as the girls set down the bulging paper bags they had brought with them and began unloading party favours and door prizes for the guests.

Luna drifted dreamily from table to table, dropping bags of Honeydukes' best chocolate bites at each place. "Probably gathering together more magnificent items... this is even more like the Queen of Snorlak's ceremonial crowning than anyone could hope..." The others exchanged slightly exasperated looks and rolled their eyes: sometimes, Luna got a little too caught up in her imagination.

Delighted squeals came from the doorway just as the bride and her bridesmaids finished organizing the treats. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger were there, flanked by Mrs. Weasley's three other daughters-in-law and Hermione's grandmother.

"Look at ze ice sculptures!" Fleur cried in delight, throwing her arms wide and doing an odd sort of pirouette across the room to the arch, where Hermione stood eyeing her nervously, wondering if perhaps the real Fleur had been kidnapped and replaced with a light-headed döppleganger from another planet. But her thoughts were cut short as Fleur pulled her into a hug and kissed both her cheeks.

Mrs. Weasley was beaming as she gazed 'round at all the decorations. "Ginny did a wonderful job... I just hope she can afford it..." Her smile flickered slightly at that disconcerting thought; but she hitched it up as she gave Hermione a warm hug. "How are you doing, dear?"

"All right," Hermione said weakly, being loosed from Mrs. Weasley's grasp only to be pulled into the clutches of her own mother. "Oh - here come the first guests..."

Tonks, along with her mother, Padma Patil, Cho Chang, and Susan Bones, had just entered the hall. She waved merrily and practically dragged her mother across the floor to Hermione. "Wotcher, girls!" she sang gaily, tossing her hair, which today was in a long black ponytail. Andromeda straightened her robes and smiled, shaking hands; at the same time Hannah Abbot and Natalie MacDonald came in, beaming. Rita Skeeter, looking as if she was trying her hardest to hide in the back of the room and not be noticed, skulked along behind them.

Over the next twenty minutes, the rest of the guests arrived in dribs and drabs. Narcissa Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, both looking as if they had swallowed a lemon, were some of the last to join the party. They didn't say hello to anyone and sat down without looking around. Hermione likewise ignored them.

"Hullo, ladies!"

Hermione closed her eyes in false aggravation and smiled to herself as Sirius' familiar voice rang through the hall; turning to the door she saw Ron and his guests at the door. Almost all of them were there, except for Harry. As the men filed in and took their seats, Hermione gave Ron a panicked look.

"Where's Harry?" she hissed.

Her fianceé shrugged. "He owled me and said something had come up... he'll be along as soon as possible."

"What could he possibly be up to?" Hermione sighed...

_-_

Gritting his teeth, the Boy-Who-Lived fought down an urge to whip out his wand and curse Ginny into oblivion. "You didn't have enough money to pay for the shower! Ginny, how could you do that!"

The redhead turned her puppy-dog pout on him. "Oh, Harry... it was José! He didn't let me see the price list!"

Harry couldn't turn her down when she was looking at him like that; now he supposed he had a vague idea of how Sirius controlled Remus. He was furious with her, mostly for asking him for money but on a lesser scale for interrupting his plans of a Snape-free planet... He shook his head at her. "Ginny, I don't have that kind of money!"

"Sirius does, borrow it from him!" she sobbed, crumpling José's bill in her hands. "He loves you, he'll let you have it, I just know it!"

"I can't ask him for almost ten thousand pounds!" Harry reached into his pocket, fumbled out a wad of tissues, and thrust them at her.

She took the tissues and mopped her face. "Then help me earn the money!" she ordered.

"How?"

"I'll show you. All we need is this suitcase, a guitar, and some funky clothes..."

_-_

Twenty minutes later, Harry was fervently wishing that he had his Invisibility Cloak handy. He was standing next to a benchful of people on an Underground platform, strumming the battered guitar he had swiped from his godfather's room minutes ago. To make matters worse, he was dressed in one of Sirius' ruffly white shirts and the beastly blue-and-green striped trousers he and Ron had found so amusing. Perched on his head was a filthy, cast-off hat that Ginny had unearthed from God-knows-where - Harry thought it best not to ask.

But it was Ginny who took the cake, dressed as a gypsy dancer in a hideous purple paisley-print skirt with five yellowing petticoats underneath. A pouffy blue peasant blouse kept slipping its way down her shoulders, and she had to keep hitching at it to keep it from puddling around her waist. Long strings of chunky beads in every colour, some her mother's and some stolen from Sirius, hung around her neck and arms. She was barefoot, a tambourine clutched in one hand. A confused-looking goat, rented from a nearby petting zoo, sat at her feet.

As Harry strummed the guitar, Ginny jerked around in an awkward sort of dance that looked nothing at all like the lithe movements of a real gypsy dancer, banging the tambourine loudly to cover Harry's pathetic guitar-playing skills. Their performance was attracting glances from everybody on the platform - some sympathetic, some annoyed, and others clearly wondering if the two young gypsies were, in fact, insane.

"Here you go, poor dear," a querulous voice spoke from Ginny's side; she tried to suppress a squeal of glee as an old woman dropped a handful of pence into the old suitcase sitting open at the goat's feet.

"Don't encourage them, Mum," the younger woman beside her hissed, taking the old woman by the arm and leading her away. "Honestly, what some people can be thinking these days, I just don't know..."

But Ginny stopped listening as a fat man with a croissant in one hand tossed a few more coins into her suitcase. "Keep playing, Harry," she whispered urgently, before resuming her dance with wild exuberance.

All went well for about an hour. Coins occasionally dropped into the battered old case, and more than a few paper notes joined them. But while Ginny was twirling merrily and trying to urge the goat to do the same, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Harry's guitar playing stopped abruptly as the red-headed 'gypsy' turned and sucked in her breath. Two very stern-looking policemen were frowning down at her.

"Can't you read, then?" one of the bobbies demanded of her, jabbing at the wall with his nightstick. Ginny looked to where he was pointing. A sign frowned down at her: No Soliciting!

"Umm... sorry," Ginny said weakly, bending down to close her case, but the other bobby shook his head.

"Now, now, lassie, we can't 'ave yeh makin' people think it's aright," he boomed. "There's a fine, didn't yeh know!"

Ginny and Harry looked at each other helplessly.

And after they finished paying the fine with the money they had 'earned', they had just enough left over to pay for the goat rental.

_-_

"Dig in!"

Hermione likened Ron and his friends to a pack of rabid wolves as they attacked the buffet, almost as if they collectively had a personal vendetta against the spread of filet mignon and glazed carrots. "Ginny really outdid herself," she murmured to herself, passing by and swiping a cracker.

She made another pass, surveying the crowd; Narcissa and Pansy sat to one side stiffly, gulping wine out of nervousness and pure distaste, but other than that, everyone was having fun. The only thing that was missing was Harry, the seat next to Ron blaringly empty. That and the absence of a mass of red curls beside Seamus, where Hermione's maid-of-honour should have been snarfing olives and pickles to keep up with her own fiancée.

Brow furrowing, Hermione absentmindedly ate another cracker. Something fishy was going on, and she dragged Ron, who was holding two cups of gravy, away from his friends amidst a chorus of, "Chug! Chug!"

She pointed at the glasses, addressing the gravy first. "_What_ do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"Drinking gravy, what's it look like?" he replied indignantly. Hermione sighed heavily.

"Ron, Ginny did so much to plan this, and I want to properly thank her… and I would have thought Harry would be here too!"

Ron glanced back at his table where Seamus was mixing mint jam, pumpkin juice, and mashed sweet potatoes. Hermione grimaced and looked revolted, but Ron was enthralled and upset. "Hey, no fair! He's stealing my spotlight!"

"Ronald Weasley, are you even listening to me?"

Looking pained, Ron tore his eyes away from the males who were, scarily enough, giggling and tittering like mad. "'Mione, come on, don't worry about it," he said, taking her hands. "They're probably just off… shagging, or something… it's all in good fun."

"Still, I think Ginny should…."

He sighed, took a sip of his gravy, and winced. "She's fine, she'd owl if there were any major problems." Tugging the bushy-haired girl after him, he grinned. "Come watch me make an arse of myself and eat more ketchup-and-spinach than Seamus, it'll be a blast!"

She felt sick and the unpleasant thought came that she'd have to drag a violently-ill Ron back to the house later. "Thanks anyway, but I'll pass. Try not to throw up, okay?"

He crossed his fingers and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll try, but I can't promise anything."

His fiancé wandered off in the opposite direction, away from exclamations of, "Wizard, it's purple!" and "That looks almost like the time…" Hermione shuddered and blocked her ears, focusing her attention instead on the rather large present table.

There were all different kinds of presents – big, small, oddly-shaped – and a mountain of cards. She felt a shiver of excitement and dread when she saw a particularly large box wrapped in black and silver with a huge tag that read "Sirius and Remus". In contrast, a normal-looking package sat somewhere in the middle, with "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes" scrawled on a tag in blue ink. She eyed it suspiciously.

Finally, she caught sigh of a huge parcel near the end of the crowded table. She could tell it was a box, but there were jagged… things… poking out every which way, covered and hidden from view by layers of packing tape and paper decorated with miniature snakes spitting fire. Hermione didn't need to peek to know it was from the Malfoys.

She gulped. Suddenly, finding Harry and Ginny didn't seem so important.

_-_

Harry sat on the sidewalk, humming what sounded suspiciously like the James Bond theme. Ginny had told him to, "Wait here," while she returned the goat and went job-hunting. "I'll use my powers of persuasion to get us something good." He fervently hoped, for Seamus' sake, that 'powers of persuasion' didn't mean what he thought it meant.

"Harry!" He looked up at the shout to see Ginny waving a piece of paper, hair trailing like a banner, and the next second was pulled into a dark alleyway. She bent her head like in some super-secret spy film and motioned for Harry to do the same. "I found it!"

"Found what?" He was rather hoping for the meaning of life or an untraceable way of killing Snape, but highly doubted it.

Ginny pushed her hair out of her eyes and unfolded the crumpled piece of paper. "A job, you prat. It's quick, pays well, is relatively easy and painless… and it's only illegal if you get caught!"

He visibly twitched. "Relatively?"

"Well, yes, if – here, just look."

He looked. And flinched.

Ginny held a newspaper clipping between two fingers; the ink was smudged and the type was somewhere around 7, tiny and hard to see. He guessed that it had been printed accidentally, maybe as a joke, or an inside job at the Muggle newspaper office. All he knew was that it gave Ginny an idea that he wished she didn't have.

"_Prostitute_ wanted?" he hissed.

Ginny grinned and played with her hair. "Well, I thought it was a good idea," she stated indignantly.

"Ginny, while this is all fine and dandy," he started, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, "neither of us is exactly the 40-ish, approximately 250-pound man who 'likes it rough' that this particular – um, woman – is looking for!"

She rolled her eyes and snatched back the paper. "I know that. I was just using this is an example… I mean, this is a quick way to make a lot of money. And we need a lot of money. Fast."

"Ginny, I don't think Ron would like it if…"

"Now you're starting to sound like Hermione." She crossed her arms across her chest and blew a stray piece of hair off her forehead.

"Because she would be right!" He started to pace, running a hand through his hair. "We're only nineteen and twenty, we can't do this, it would be ethically wrong, not to mention illegal, and-" He stopped short. "No. Stop right there."

Ginny had her lower lip jut out again, and she bat her eyelashes at him, hands folded over her heart. "Please, Harry? Think of it as a present for Hermione."

He could feel himself melting.

"Ginny, come on. You don't want to do this, those guys can be pretty gross, and besides-" All of the sudden, she started to laugh. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

In no time flat she was rolling on the ground, giggling like mad. Harry quickly glanced around to make sure he wasn't on some stupid Muggle game show, or had missed something hilarious, like an elephant walking through town, or Snape spontaneously combusting. "Ginny, what is it?"

"You!" she managed to squeak around peals of laughter. "That's the funniest – most ridiculous – where did you even get the idea that I?"

Now he was truly worried for her sanity. "Ginny? Ginevra Weasley?"

She managed to stop laughing long enough to choke out, "Harry, you're the one who'd be doing the dirty work!"

For a moment, he was, to put it simply, shocked. Then he started backing away, hands over his – erm – more private parts. "N-no-o, not me, no way, nu-huh, not a snowball's chance in hell…."

She straightened and put a hand on her hip. "Come on, Harry. It's not a big deal. Everyone's doing it!"

"They why don't you!" he exclaimed, bumping into a wall, stumbling over, and trying to regain some of his dignity.

Ginny sighed and held out her hand. "Hello? I'm engaged? Remember Seamus Finnigan?"

"So what?"

She rolled her eyes and went on, slowly, as if trying to explain the subject of physics to a three-year-old child, "So you don't even have a girlfriend."

"I could get one if I wanted," he murmured unhappily.

"But you don't have one."

"Yet," he shot back bitterly.

She sighed and turned her head to the clouds in a God-please-give-me-strength gesture. "Harry, we need money. You can get us money. I promise I'll only get you the nice ones, and-"

"Since when do you know so much about this?" he asked suspiciously.

She bit her lip. "Lavender and Parvati, but that isn't important."

"Apparently my innocence isn't important either."

She wanted to reply, 'What innocence?' but fought back the urge. Instead – "Does this mean you'll do it?"

"I suppose I have no choice. It's either that or I leave you to be thrown in jail for not paying off your debts, and I know Ron would hate me if I let that happen."

"Oh, Harry!" she squealed, throwing her arms around him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

"Save it. Just wait until I need a favour."

_-_

"So, did you read those books I gave you?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the tall redhead and mustered the dirtiest look possible. "I peeked at them. And, frankly, I thought they were _disgusting_. I didn't know people could even twist that way."

She flushed. "Yes, well, I was just trying to help."

"Then let me off the hook," he muttered.

"Oh, Harry." With a slight sigh and a roll of her eyes, Ginny perched next to her friend on the bed inside the seedy motel, after making sure the curtains were drawn tightly closed. "Look, I got you a list of clients for tonight. The first one's going to arrive in about twenty minutes, so we have to get you ready… and she's paying for this room, so don't screw up."

"Yea, yea. I don't see why you can't just do this yourself."

She didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, she pulled a bag of clothes from behind her back. Harry eyed it. "Look, I have clothes for you. Your jeans and t-shirt are not a turn-on."

He gritted his teeth. "What's in there? Let me guess, leather trousers, a sequined shirt, and a spandex-"

"Yes, actually," she cut him off quickly. "But don't worry, because-"

"You're going to _pay_ for this," he snarled, grabbing the bag and heading to the bathroom. He stopped just short of the grime creeping from near the tub and turned around. "Close your eyes while I change."

Ginny obliged, resisting the urge to peek around her fingers at Harry's frequent outbursts of, "Bloody hell! Stupid, stupid…". Instead, she lowered her hand and tried not to laugh when he grunted, "I'm ready, you can look now."

She had to divert her attention from Harry, who looked thoroughly disgruntled. "The pants are – erm – quite tight."

"Yea, if they cut off circulation, I'm blaming you."

"Fair enough. So anyway, her name's Sam, and she's twenty-five, and-" Ginny was cut off by a sharp knock on the door, and shook her head at Harry before grabbing his glasses and running to loom through the peephole. "It's her! Look, Harry, just be nice and… well, be nice."

When Ginny opened the door, 'Sam' strode in. Ginny had to twitch at the sight of her heavily made-up face, blue sparkly eye shadow smeared up to her brows, eyeliner too thick for words. She looked faintly masculine, but Ginny wasn't one to judge. Instead, she tried to wave to Harry – "Be good, kid," – as 'Sam' shoved some notes into her hand. Harry snatched his glasses from her hands, and Ginny darted out and slammed the door before Harry could regain sight.

There came a phase – shock, and then what was presumably denial – and then Ginny heard low voices and the creak of bedsprings. Harry was such an accepting sport. She sank against the wall, thankful for an hour or so of peace.

Harry couldn't have been in the room for more then ten minutes when he rushed out, breathless, hair disheveled from bumping into quite a few walls in his mad scramble for the door. "Done already?" Ginny asked, puzzled, looking up from the wad of bills she was counting.

"Ginny, I couldn't do it!"

"Why not?" She looked surprised.

His eyes darted to the closed door, and he held the handle tight. In a whisper he replied, "Cos that she… is really a he. And it's scary! And even more illegal because she- he- it- said he- she- aw, screw it… was married, and-" He stopped to catch his breath.

"I should say it is, now, isn't it laddie?"

"Yeah, definitely… wait a minute…." Harry looked up into the eyes of the bobby he had seen only once before – outside the tube, when he and Ginny were posing as gypsy dancers.

Ginny made an incoherent squeaking noise.

Harry lowered his eyes. "I don't suppose it would help if I said I was sorry?"

The bobby shook his head. "Not one bit. Hol' on a mo' while I go check on the poor lass in the bedroom there. You two are going to have an awful' hefty fine when I'm ready for ya…." The door squeaked open and the bobby's face turned white as a sheet.

Harry and Ginny were able to sneak away when the bobby discovered that their 'client' was his wife.

_-_

"Presents! Presents!" Lavender declared loudly, standing up on her chair and waving her arms. "Come on! Bride and groom, over here!"

Ron looked distinctly disgruntled as Katie and Luna plucked the jar of pickle juice he had been about to drink from his fingers, seized him by the arms, and dragged him over to the 'Groom' chair under the arch. Hermione was already seated in the 'Bride' chair, chewing her lip nervously and shooting glances at the door every now and then, as if she was planning an escape; Ron figured she was still waiting for Ginny and Harry. For a moment it became a little confusing as the guests seized their chairs and pulled them into a wide semi-circle around the pair; people kept pushing chairs into each other and tripping. Once they had finally settled down, Parvati seized the nearest gift and peered at the tag.

"This one's from Fleur and Bill..." She handed it to Hermione, who exclaimed over the exquisite wrapping job and forgot about Harry and Ginny for awhile. Ron immediately ruined it by tearing off a chunk of gold-and-mauve paper, earning himself a growl from his sister-in-law.

"Sorry, Fleur..."

Hermione carefully slid the rest of the paper off the box - fancy jade letters across the lid spelled out 'Avec Plaisir'. Hermione opened the box to find layers upon layers of tissue paper, which she folded back to reveal - lingerie. A short, silky blue nightgown, covered in lace and accompanied by a matching bra and panty set.

She and Ron blushed like mad as Angelina scooped the lacy, frilly undergarments from their box and held them up to the hoots and catcalls of the guests. Fleur kissed Hermione's cheek and Bill punched his younger brother playfully in the arm, beaming. "Authentic French lingerie. It'll spice things up a little!"

"Thanks... I think..." Ron mumbled as Hermione hid the underwear in its box and hastily stuffed it under her chair.

"The next present is from Dean!" Alicia sang, plopping a huge box down into Ron's lap. He ripped off the Quaffle-printed paper before Hermione could blink, and held it up for all to see. It was a blender. Not the usual kind of blender - its box proclaimed it as 'A Miracle Of The Age! Chops, Purées, Blends, Even Minces! Tough Enough To Withstand Even The Toughest Fire-Crab Shells!" The picture on the box showed the blender, filled with a strange mixture the colour of rust, with things that looked like bones poking out of it. Hermione shuddered slightly, but Ron was feeling a lot better. Maybe appliances were even more fun then he had thought!

The next few presents were mostly quite ordinary... a set of dishes and silverware from Neville... a gorgeous clock from Hermione's grandmother... a hideous lamp from Mrs. Figg which Hermione vowed to stow in the deepest depths of the basement as soon as possible... a set of bath lotions and salts... matching table linen...

Then Luna pushed the giant silver-and-black package at Hermione and Ron. "This one's from Mr. Black and Professor Lupin..."

Sirius beamed. "Mr. Black, did you hear that? Mr. Black. I don't think anyone's ever called me that..."

Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous looks before taking deep breaths and untying the ribbon together. Whatever it was, it couldn't be too bad... after all, Remus had probably made sure Sirius hadn't gotten anything too strange... With that reassuring thought in mind, they each took a side of the box's lid and lifted.

Almost at once Hermione turned red and buried her face in her hands. Ron's eyes widened almost to the point of tumbling out of his head, but with horror or amazement no one cloud be quite sure.

"Ahh, they like it!" Sirius chuckled, draining his glass of wine.

His lover, however, thought otherwise; he got up and peered into the box. "SIRIUS BLACK!"

Inside the box was a whip, a riding crop, two pairs of handcuffs (one fluffy; one plain steel), and many naughty articles of leather clothing.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!" Remus yelled at Sirius, who was giggling helplessly. A combination of the looks on the engaged couple's faces and too much wine, probably.

"Remus!" Hermione cried in agonizing embarrassment. "How could you let him buy this!"

"I didn't! He wouldn't let me see what he bought! He had it gift-wrapped at the shop... oh, you're so bloody stupid!" Remus wailed, the last directed at Sirius.

"I dunno," Fred said mischievously, peeking at the gifts. "It might make things a little... interesting..."

"Suits the relationship rather well..." George sniggered.

His soon-to-be sister-in-law grabbed the jar of pickle juice and poured it over his head.

_-_

"You know, I'm never, never going to forgive you for that," a rather disgruntled Harry informed Ginny as they finally emerged from behind the Dumpster they had chosen as a hiding place. "I'm scarred for life, honestly. I'll never be able to go into a motel again..."

"Oh, do shut up," Ginny said impatiently. "I've had an idea."

"What now?" Harry said grumpily.

"We've been going about this all the wrong way. Everything we've done so far is illegal! We've got to try something... well... more legal. And I know just how to do it!"

Harry twitched. "Oh no, how?"

"Follow me!"

Fifteen Minutes Later

"Um... Ginny... are you sure about this?" Harry asked weakly.

The fiery redhead had her back to him, arranging stacks of paper cups and a cup of straws on the table they had set up on the sidewalk. What looked like every juice pitcher the Weasleys owned was scattered all over the table as well, filled with different kinds of juice and neatly labeled: 'Watermelon', 'Lemonade', 'Pink Lemonade', 'Pineapple', and so on. A sign hung from the edge of the table, facing the street, announcing to the public: Cool, Refreshing Lemonade! Really Cheap!

"Of course I am," Ginny said in an aggravated tone of voice, finally turning back to him and scowling. "Look, I've got it all figured out, okay? I've seen Muggle children doing this - this must be how they earn all that money for bideo games and such..."

"Video games, not bideo," Harry corrected her, but Ginny took no notice. Instead, she plopped a sugar bowl and a pile of plastic spoons beside the straws. She stepped back to survey her work and smiled.

"That's good enough to be getting on with. Now, let's sit and wait for the customers to come flocking to us!"

"Flocking?"

"Yes! They'll be coming in droves!"

But after fifteen minutes, Harry was ready to give up. Not one person had stopped for a drink; in fact, most people hurried by as if they didn't see the table at all. The bowl of ice cubes was beginning to melt and overflow; and Harry was heartily sick of the bees which kept buzzing around their table, intent on the sugar bowl.

"Er... Ginny..."

"They'll - be - here- any- MINUTE," Ginny growled.

"Come on, we've already been waiting fifteen minutes..."

"That's not long enough!" Ginny waved away a bee that was trying to land on her earring and looked at him. She looked as if she was going mad; her eyes were gleaming in a frantic way that reminded Harry of Luna, or perhaps Snape when he was close to getting something he wanted. With a shudder, he pushed the thought of Snape from his mind.

"Come on... everyone must think we're insane... we haven't sold one cup of juice!" he protested. "Besides, we should be getting to the shower, everyone must be worried sick about us..."

"I can't go back without the money!" Ginny said savagely.

"I still think we should-"

"Er - some service, chaps?"

Harry and Ginny jumped and stopped arguing. Standing in front of their table was a young, handsome man with long hair, wearing Lycra biking shorts and holding the lead of an enormous St. Bernard. The man looked sweaty, as if he had just been jogging.

"Hi," Ginny said brightly, elbowing Harry in the ribs before he could open his mouth. "What would you like?"

"Lemonade, please..." he paid Ginny and took the cup she offered him.

"That really hits the spot," he gasped when he finished, crunching up the cup and tossing it into the dustbin next to the table. "Thanks!" He and his dog jogged off, Ginny leaning over the table to watch the man's lovely Lycra-clad arse before he jogged around the corner.

"Hey, lady!"

A kid's voice brought her down to earth and she looked around to see two small blonde children, one boy and one girl, standing in front of the table. Ginny put on her sweetest smile and cooed, "Something to drink, kids?"

"No," the girl said. "We want you to get out of our territory!"

Ginny and Harry exchanged surprised looks, and then Harry chuckled. "_Your_ territory? Listen, kids... I don't know who you think owns this sidewalk, but we're doing business here. We're not going to move for you."

"Hell you won't!" the boy said rudely, pushing everything off the table and into the dustbin. Ginny winced when she heard her mother's best glass pitcher shattering. Harry was staring in disbelief at the two children, who couldn't be any more than eight but already acted like the thugs that hung out in the back alleys of London.

"Move it or lose it," the girl threatened. Ginny and Harry jumped to their feet, either to push the kids over or flee, whichever came first - but as soon as they stood, the girl knocked Ginny down.

"Hey, you can't do that!" Harry yelled, starting towards the boy. The boy sneered at him and raised his fists. Harry did the same...

...and screamed in pain as the boy punched him in the crotch.

_-_

"Last present, everyone! Last present!"

Ron sighed in relief; he could have sworn he was getting carpal tunnel syndrome after opening the last twenty presents Hermione had forced on him: he had a sneaking suspicion it was because her own hands were killing her, but thought it unwise to start a row in the middle of the shower. Instead, he smiled like his life depended on it, and took the present Luna handed to him. "It's from Narcissa and Pansy," she said, feigning happiness.

In truth, all the guests were a little scared. Although they didn't think anything could quite top the last present - candies that had exploded, and left the ends of Ron's hair singed, given as a gift from the twins – they were weary of the box Ron had on his lap. It looked, to put it bluntly, positively lethal.

Ron forced a smile and started to pull off the snake-imprinted wrapping paper; he made a point of handing it off to Fleur, who understood right away and shoved it at the bottom of the wastepaper bag. Layer after layer he went, each guest backing away as he got closer to the present itself. "Bloody hell," he muttered, as he got to the packing tape and got tangled in it, but Hermione put a hand on his thigh to quiet him, and helped disentangle his hands.

After the packing tape, there was a layer of perfectly normal brown paper… and Ron promptly found all the protruding points as he made to peel this off. Every so often he would whimper as he pricked his hand, but a look at Hermione, who was a stickler for politeness, made him smile and think twice about cursing.

"This is… erm… very nice… thank you, Narcissa and Pansy…" Ron said, as he got down to the heart of the box. There, inside, lay a set of exceedingly large kitchen knives, poorly packed, some poking through the box to the other side. Perfectly harmless. And Ron was expecting something deadly.

There was a collective sigh of relief from the group, and a couple of giggles from the back.

"Oh, not a problem, dear. I just wish the stupid prat had packed it correctly." Narcissa Malfoy, very red in the face, stood up in the back of the room, holding out a hand and a glass of wine as she did so; Ron and the others couldn't help but notice just how many half-full glasses were around her and Pansy, who was sitting with her head on the table, snoring lightly, drooling on the cloth. "It is so hard to find good help these days…" she added, wavering, from drunkenness, where she stood in her stiletto heels.

Hermione blanched at the sight of Draco's girlfriend, but forced herself to smile. "Those knives will come in handy in the kitchen, I'm sure…"

For a moment Narcissa looked confused, and put her glass down in mid-sip.

"Dear… those are hunting knives." Thoughtfully, she added, "Of course, you can always use them to behead house-elves…."

The room was quiet in shock, except for Hermione's grandmother, befuddled, who whispered to Sirius on her left, "What's a house elf?"

_-_

"Not illegal, you say? Ginny, they could have arrested us for fighting with children!" Dejectedly, Harry sat leaning against a trash can, knees tucked to his chest, head on his knees. Ginny had allotted time for him to sit down, telling him that 'You won't be any good for making money until you recover from being beaten by a child. It's a blow to your ego.' Harry had to agree.

She carefully touched her swelling eye and flinched. "Yes, but they didn't. And we made a couple dollars."

"A couple dollars won't even pay for the rental of the country club."

"Yea, you're right," she agreed miserably, sinking beside Harry. "I don't know how we're going to make the money! There's just no way!"

He looked up happily. "So we can go to the shower? And admit our mistakes? And maybe, possibly get something for this cut below my eye? It hurts," he whimpered pathetically, "and I think it started bleeding again."

Ginny pretended to consider this, and the sat up straight and smiled at Harry, albeit rather… evilly. "Ohhh, no. I still have one more plan. And it's a doozy."

If it had been earlier that morning Harry's eyes probably would have widened behind his glasses and he would have squeaked something incoherent, protesting against the newest scheme of Ginny's. Now, he just pulled himself painfully to his feet and sighed, long a martyr of Ginny's tactics. "What now?" he asked tiredly.

"Well," she began, standing also, "first we have to Apparate to the Burrow. There're some things I have to get for us…."

_-_

Harry stood, decked from head to toe in black, wringing a ski mask in his hands. "I cannot believe you are making me do this. I seriously cannot believe…"

"Oh, do stop whining," Ginny cut him off, taking the pins he handed her and twisting her vivid hair into a knot on the top of her head. She paused for a moment to study her reflection critically in a puddle on the ground, then fished in her pocket for a piece of charcoal. Almost delicately she drew two diagonal lines under each eye and handed it off to Harry.

"I'm going to be wearing a mask, I don't need it," he grumbled, but complied anyway, knowing better than to anger the redhead. She, meanwhile, pulled a dark green turtleneck from her 'pocketbook' and pulled it over her white blouse.

The duo was standing in the middle of St. Catchpole's largest bank, having successfully worked an Alohomora charm on the locked door. Ginny had pointed out that if the two looked like workers who had forgotten something, passing bobbies were less likely to interrogate them. Harry hadn't bothered to question the reason behind changing into all-dark garb, just smiled and nodded. Sometimes it was just easier to agree with the Weasleys.

"Are you ready?" Ginny asked. She had on black jeans and work boots a couple sizes too big; they must have been Fred or George's. As a finishing touch she had pulled a dark blue cap over her hair. Harry was dressed almost the same, except, of course, for the ski cap. He was making sure his face was covered at all costs.

"Ready as I'll ever be." The two started off down the hall, staying in the shadows and dodging the security cameras as Harry pointed them out. Ginny had wanted to blow them up with her wand, but Harry thought that reckless, and had stopped her from taking out half a side wall with one misplaced spell. "Lay low, okay?" he had told her.

They were heading in the direction of the vaults, where Ginny said they were going to borrow just enough money to pay off their debts. "I'll take a couple jobs and pay back the money as quickly as I can. I'm not just going to steal it, so don't worry," she had told him.

True, it was a crazy plan: but it was all they had.

"This is quite uneventful," Harry remarked as they stayed out the line of cameras, hooking a right and facing the giant doors that stood between them and their destination. "And it's hard to breathe in this mask."

"So take it off. There's no one around. But don't touch anything," Ginny told him, starting to work on the door-lock. "I really wish we had a charm that could turn us incorporeal, I don't know if Alohomora's going to work."

Harry rolled his eyes and sat on a tellers' desk: he didn't even bother to wonder why there was a desk outside the vault. He just sighed and took off the mask and his glasses, leaving them folded beside him. He closed his eyes and yawned. "I really thought we were going to have more trouble, you know? This seems almost too easy."

"Muggles are just no match for wizard-kind," Ginny murmured, hard at work on the lock.

"I know, but still…." Harry stretched and felt a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, are you all done?" he asked, turning around and opening his eyes to grin at the girl behind him.

Only, that didn't look like Ginny. "Wow, Ginn, without my glasses on you're really ugly," he said, reaching out for his specs and slipping them over the bridge of his nose.

"That's because I'm over here," came a shaky voice to his left. He raised his eyebrows and turned his head; there was Ginny, biting her lip, face pale, hair falling from its careful up-do. So who was behind him?

Slowly, he turned his head, and sucked in a breath. There was the bobby from the motel, his big hand clamped on Harry's shoulder. "Eh… heh… my, you sure look mighty lovely with my glasses on, Sir," he squeaked.

"Easier tha' you thought, eh?" said the bobby. Harry caught sight of no less than five officers behind him, bemused smiles on their faces.

"Let me guess… cuff 'em, right?" Harry asked, holding out his hands.

"Ohhh, yes. An' I hope the two of yeh like prison, because, from the looks of it, neither of yeh have the money to be gettin' ou'."

Ginny glared at Harry. "And if you hadn't sat on the 'silent alarm' button we would have gotten away, too."

Ashamed, he hung his head.

_-_

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" the shower guests chanted after the debris from the presents had been cleaned up, clinking their forks against their champagne glasses.

Hermione and Ron obliged, blushing furiously; a cheer went up from the guests, and Sirius yelled, "Dance! Dance!" as he turned on his battered CD player.

While the rest of the guests jumped up and began dancing, even his mother and Pansy, Draco Malfoy sat in the corner, clutching a rather large glass of wine and frowning horribly. He really hated being here, despite everything his mother had said about it being a magically binding, family tradition for the Weasleys, Blacks, and Malfoys to get together when one of the members got married, no matter how the rest of the family felt about them. Idly, he was wondering why Auntie Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus weren't here, when a snooty waiter approached him.

"Exuuuuuse me, sir... but there's a very important phone call from a Mr. Harry Potter... and you seem to be the only person I can get the attention of... soooooo... would you mind taking it, please? He sounds very distressed."

Draco set down his wine glass, the first vapours of drunkenness clouding his mind. "Potty is on the phone! Okay, I'll take it." He got tipsily to his feet and followed the snooty waiter out into the lobby of the country club. The waiter handed him the phone and then left. Draco giggled nastily into the phone. "Is it you, Potty?"

On the other end, Harry moaned and looked at Ginny. "We used our only phone call, and got Draco!" he hissed, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

For some inexplicable reason, Ginny beamed. "Good. He'll be perfect. Ask him to get down here."

Horribly confused, Harry uncovered the phone. "Hi, Draco... could you come to the police station? Ginny and I need you to bail us out."

"I always knew you'd end up in gaol someday, Potty!" Draco crowed. He hiccupped loudly. "I'll be right there! This is one sight I don't want to miss!"

Harry hung up the phone, even more bewildered. "He says he'll come," he said to Ginny as they were escorted back to their cell by a bobby.

"Good!" said Ginny. "_Accio_ Incriminating Tape!"

A videotape box came zooming in the window. Bitterly, Harry wondered how he was the only person in the world who ever got caught doing magic in front of Muggles. But he couldn't dwell on this; Ginny's smile widened further and she hugged the tape.

"What is that?" Harry inquired.

"A video I took on your graduation day. Remember, I was trying out the Muggle camcorder Bill gave me? Well, I took an interesting video during the celebration feast after the ceremony. If we show this to Draco, he'll do anything we want."

"More blackmail?" Harry asked. "You and Sirius... honestly, you're both horrible. What's on it?"

Ginny whispered in his ear. A nasty smile played its way across Harry's lips. "Ginevra Weasley, you are a genius. I could kiss you." And he did, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Getting cuddly, Potty and Miss Weasel?"

Draco had arrived. He was standing outside their cell beside the bobby, his usual malicious smirk on his face. "I always knew the two of you would end up as hardened criminals," he said happily. "It must run in the family, Potter... taking after Black, are we? Pity you aren't as attractive as he is..."

"Draco, we need you to bail us out," Ginny cut in, laying a hand on Harry's arm to keep him from trying to strangle Draco through the bars.

The blonde sneered. "Why should I?"

"I hoped it wouldn't come to this..." Ginny sighed in mock sorrow, shaking the videotape at him. "I have here a very incriminating video of you, shot at your graduation from Hogwarts. This copy is not the only one. If you don't help us out, I'll be forced to send this to every major news channel in Britain, and to the Daily Prophet."

Draco's heart plummeted to his shoes. More blackmail! How did everyone get ahold of all this information on him? Nervously, he cleared his throat. "What's on it?"

Ginny leaned close and whispered to him through the bars. Draco gulped, and turned to the bobby. "I'm going to bail these people out... how much is their bail?"

"Three thousand pounds."

Damn, that was a lot. But it couldn't be helped. Wetting his lips unhappily, he pulled out his checkbook. "Very well..."

_-_

"Okay, now why are you still following me?" Draco grumped, as he, Harry, and Ginny meandered down the London streets, on their way to the shower.

"Simple, Dracipoo," Ginny cooed. "We need you to pay the bill for Hermione's shower." She handed him the bill.

His grey eyes widened. "£8,872.30!"

"In cash, paid before the shower's over," Ginny said sweetly.

Draco stared at her, his normally pale skin now a deathly white. "I'm not going to pay for this!"

"Yes, you are. Or..." the redhead waved the tape threateningly. Draco longed to wrest it from her grasp and fling it down the nearest sewer grating, but he was quite certain that she wasn't lying about having other copies.

"All right... all right..." he said helplessly, thrusting the bill back at her. "Let's go..."

_-_

"Ginny!" Hermione cried, flinging her arms around her maid-of-honour. "There you are! I've been so worried... wherever have you been?"

"Just sorting out some things," Ginny said, grinning. "I'm ever so sorry it took so long, dear... we had a beastly wait at the caterer's..."

"It's such a pity you missed it," Hermione sighed, looking around at her bridesmaids, who were taking down the decorations and squabbling over the centerpieces. "It was so lovely... thank you so much, Ginny!"

Ginny smiled as Hermione hugged her again. "You're very welcome... it was no trouble at all..." 

_- _

Sirius, yawning slightly and feeling dizzy from all the wine he had consumed at the shower, was led into the living room and helped over to the sofa by his godson and his lover. He hiccupped and cast a bleary eye on the box in Harry's hand. "Hey Harry," he slurred. "Wha's that?"

Harry looked down at the tape box, an uncharacteristically nasty smile spreading across his face. "Oh, just a tape Ginny lent to me. Want to watch?"

"Sure, why not?" Sirius shrugged. Harry stuck the tape in the VCR and plopped down on the sofa beside his godfather. Remus, looking a little apprehensive, took a seat on Sirius' other side as the tape started.

It was a shot of Draco Malfoy in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. He was standing on a table, waving his shirt over his head and shouting, "Let's paaaaar-taaaay!" He threw his shirt aside and started to do a slow, sinuous dance, unbuttoning his trousers as he did. Eventually he pulled the trousers off to cheers and catcalls, and threw them aside as Snape came up to the table and started yelling at him.

"Snapey! Give me a kiss!" Draco crowed, pulling off his boxers as well. (Remus covered his eyes in terror.) The blonde jumped off the table, lips puckered. Snape panicked and bolted, Draco following, singing, "Da-amn… wish I was your loo-ver…."

Harry and Sirius burst into laughter.

There was no way Harry was ever going to let Draco forget this...

"God bless you, Ginny," he choked out between giggles.

_-_

_Upcoming attractions…._

**Ch/6: They Only Come Out At Night** – We've had the wedding shower, and you know what comes next - the bachelor party! Harry and Sirius are determined to give Ron one last fling as a 'sexy single man', and take Ron and his friends out for a night on the town! Trouble comes in the form of strippers and prostitutes of both sexes, and the groom-to-be might end up with an unpleasant surprise...


	6. They Only Come Out At Night

A/N – Sorry about how long it took us to update. School, work, and mental blocks prevented us from writing as fast as we'd like. But we're not abandoning this story yet, so please stick around and cheer us on!

Unfortunately, as Liz is going to a writer's convention next week, and Lauren is exceptionally busy at work, Chapter 7 won't come out for a few weeks. Bear with us! It's in the works as we speak!

So, without further adieu - Chapter 6!

_"They Only Come Out At Night"_

"Where are you taking me?" Ron asked in fright. Twelve minutes ago he had been seized from behind after arriving home from his job-hunting, stuffed into a car, and driven away. He was blindfolded; all he could hear was the sound of the car's motor running and occasional snickers. He thought perhaps he had been kidnapped by members of the Mafia for looking at one of their cohorts' homes while house-hunting.

"It's a surprise," said a voice Ron recognized as Harry's. He went limp with relief.

"Frigging good surprise," Sirius' voice chuckled. Ron's worries returned. If Sirius was bringing him somewhere, Ron reckoned it wasn't likely to be very much fun; Sirius' interests ran the gamut from weird to bizarre to just plain scary.

"Um, can you at least take this blindfold off?"

"In a mi-nute," Harry and Sirius sang together, and Ron cringed. He said a quick prayer to the gods, asking to be returned to Hermione in one piece after whatever-it-was was all over.

Then the car pulled to a stop. "Here we are," Harry sang, and car doors opened and shut. Ron was pulled from the car and his blindfold finally removed; he found himself standing outside a black brick building. Dean, Seamus, and Neville, along with Ron's brothers and Remus, were leaning against the wall, apparently waiting for them.

Ron's anxieties grew worse. Each of them were dressed a tad outrageously - the most noticeable of the bunch being Sirius, clad today in low-waisted, sliver, leather trousers and a black tank top that bared most of his midriff. Harry was wearing a blindingly green vest; Bill was bedecked in more skin-tight leather and satin than Ron had ever cared to see anyone in, especially not his eldest brother.

"What are you all playing at?" he squeaked, eyeing Neville's paisley cargo pants warily.

"Now, now, Ron," Bill said, smiling and clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder, "Tonight's the night! Ready for one final fling?"

"Eh?" Ron spluttered.

Seamus rolled his eyes (he was wearing black jeans and his sandy hair had glitter in it). "Hello, Earth to Ron? It's your bachelor party, dope."

Ron didn't think Hermione would really like this, but he couldn't see a way out of it. He gulped. "Er... okay..."

Sirius beamed. "That's the spirit! Let's go, lads!" He and Harry steered Ron over to the building's entrance, the others following.

"'Boobs and Butts'," Dean read the neon sign over the door, sniggering. "'Triple-X Rated'. Boy, Sirius, you sure can pick a place."

The raven-haired man shrugged. "Hey, I needed to get in something for all of us."

"...All of us?"

"Well, yeah! In case you haven't noticed, Remmie and I aren't into women..."

"Uh, yeah. I'm aware of your... preferences... let's go," Dean said, and the party trooped indoors.

It was dark inside and smelled like cigarette smoke. Sirius approached the hostess, an enormous blonde woman in a dress far too small to cover most of her bulk. Ron cowered, suddenly more nervous than he had ever been. Knowing Sirius, this place would turn out to be some sort of S&M club that would leave them all scarred for life - mentally as well as physically. He looked around. There was a notable lack of whips and chains, but somehow, this didn't comfort Ron in the least.

"Black, party of twelve," Sirius said casually to the hostess, who smiled and winked.

"Youse the bachelor paaty, then?" she drawled. "Who'se the lucky guy?"

Ron made an incoherent noise as Harry shoved him into the bosom of the enormous woman, who squeezed Ron so tightly he felt like he was going to faint.

"Youse a cute one, shugah," the woman said, then turned to Sirius. "C'mon, I'll lead youse to you table."

Ron's eyes widened as he was herded along by his friends, following Sirius and the gigantic hostess. The club was quite dark and smoky, but he could make out the dim outlines of other patrons sitting at the tables, hooting and catcalling to the strippers. The strippers themselves were scantily clad in tiny G-strings and little else. Some were pole-dancing, others doing things Ron didn't want to think about. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed he'd find himself at home when he opened them...

...But to no avail. When he opened his eyes, he was still in the smoky, crowded pub, being pushed into a seat by Harry. The others were taking their seats; apparently Sirius had had the people who worked at the pub push a few tables together to accommodate their party. Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust as he sat down and saw several mysterious stains on the tablecloth - he wondered how many times this table had doubled as a quick bed for some desperate people.

But the others didn't seem to share his disgust (except maybe Remus, who had his face buried in his hands and seemed to be heartily embarrassed, but that was probably because Sirius had a large, muscular male stripper in his lap already). Harry, Neville, Seamus, and Dean were hooting at a redheaded girl in the tiniest pink bikini imaginable; Fred and George were mooning over two strippers who were twins; Percy, Bill, and Charlie had already ordered drinks and were quaffing them like there was no tomorrow.

"Need a l'il love, sugar?" a voice breathed in his ear, and Ron squeaked. Standing beside him with a sexy-pouty look on his face was a man with long blonde hair, a purple feather boa, a sequined purple thong, and a matching pair of high-heeled boots.

Ron's eyes bugged out and he couldn't speak. The blonde man put his arms around Ron's shoulders and nuzzled his neck. "You are a cute one, love. Redheads are my favourites..."

"Er... actually... I was just heading to the loo," Ron lied, pulling free of the frightening tart's grasp and backing away. He backed, however, into Sirius, knocking both the older man and his 'entertainment' from their chair. The male stripper huffed and stalked off, offended, as Sirius got up and glared at Ron, who apologized most profusely before hurrying off towards the restrooms. Besides, the stripper couldn't have been that offended - Ron had noticed Sirius had done quite an efficient job stuffing the man's G-string with Muggle money before they had been forced to part ways.

Even the loo was scary. Ron could hear disturbing noises coming from several of the stalls and shuddered. He vowed to kill everybody once this was over... all of them! His friends, his brothers, even! The only ones who might be hard to squash would be Sirius and Harry; Sirius always turned up alive even after everyone thought he had been dead for weeks, and Harry had the annoying habit of being able to avoid death in three thousand ways.

As Ron slumped against the wall and put his face in his hands, trying to gain some control over himself, one of the stalls opened and two men came out - one a fat, mustachioed Muggle businessman in a suit, the other a slender, scantily-clad brunette.

"Stall's free if you need it, mate," the businessman said to Ron as he passed.

Ewwww. Ron didn't dare go in that stall. Instead he turned on the sink, splashed his face with some cold water, and took a few deep, calming breaths. Okay. Time to go out there and face the inevitable.

The others hadn't even noticed his absence, it seemed. Sirius had discovered the blonde man in the purple thong and had him sitting on one of his knees, a madly blushing Remus on the other. Harry was kissing the redheaded girl in the pink bikini, and Fred and George were dancing with the twin stripper girls. Even Neville was acting much more differently than usual - he was dancing with the enormous hostess. Exasperated, Ron skirted the dance floor and headed for the bar, where his three eldest brothers were perched on stools, giggling and working their way through a sixth round of whiskey sours.

"Havin' fun, Ronnie?" Bill slurred. He had lost his hair elastic somehow and his long red hair was hanging over half his face like a veil. Ron suspected he had been attacked by a few other strippers who were particular to redheads.

"I guess," Ron muttered. He ordered a beer from the bartender (the only worker in the entire establishment who was completely dressed) and sunk onto the stool beside Percy.

Even his stuffy brother was getting into it. Percy had had quite a lot of liquor, and he was tittering at the sight of Dean and Seamus kissing, egged on by several other patrons and strippers. Ron wondered exactly how much everyone else had been drinking. His beer arrived and he sipped at it warily, looking around the room for everyone else. Scarily enough, they all seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Neville had even started pole-dancing with the gigantic hostess (and if that wasn't a sight to scar anyone for life, Ron didn't know what was).

Nervously, Ron eyed the fire exit, wondering if he could possibly slip out the door without being noticed. Then he would run all the way home, hide under the bed, and cry. He was on the verge of trying it when Harry stood up on a table and shouted, "OI! LADS! Time for the show, get over here!"

"This'll be good," Charlie sniggered, catching Ron by the arm and dragging him over to the table Harry was standing on. There was a pause as the rest of their party congregated there, then Harry jumped down from the table and stood behind Ron's chair, a broad grin spreading across his face.

"I got you a really good present, Ron," Harry said, as the others sniggered and elbowed each other. "I guess you could call it... oh, let's say it's a 'Last-Night-As-A-Bachelor' present."

"Uhh..." Ron gulped nervously. "What is it?"

"You'll see..." Harry sat down in his own seat as the already dim lighting dimmed even more and slow music began to play.

_-_

Meanwhile, Hermione had not noticed that her husband-to-be was not at home. In fact, she wasn't at home either. She was at the Burrow, helping Ginny, Fleur, Penelope, Angelina, and Anica help a near-frantic Mrs. Weasley try and figure out where the rest of the Weasleys would be staying once they arrived.

"Some of them can stay here, of course," Mrs. Weasley said wildly, scanning a list of all the relatives who had accepted. "Some can stay in Muggle hotels... the ones who can control themselves around Muggles, at least... but there's just too many! It's a blessing Ginny's the only one living here at home now... but we'll have to see if some of our friends can put some of them up - do Remus and Sirius have room, do you think? I-"

"Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione cried, breaking off her soon-to-be-mother-in-law's rant. "Enough, please! Calm down!"

"I'm sorry, dear... I suppose I am being a little melodramatic," Mrs. Weasley sighed. She fanned her face with a copy of the guest list. "I suppose it won't be as bad as all that..."

"No, it's all right," Angelina said reassuringly, patting Mrs. Weasley's arm. "Fred and I have some room, a few people can come stay with us... and George could probably have a few guests in his flat..."

"And you know Remus," Ginny said. "He'll let anyone stay, so long as they won't be there during the full moon. And if we ask around, I'm sure we can find plenty of hotels and places like that that can take care of everybody else."

"You're right, Ginny... most of the family isn't a problem; nearly everybody lives here in England. It's just the relatives from Ireland, America, and Japan we need to worry about." Mrs. Weasley admitted.

"All right, then, let's start owling around," Hermione said, pulling out Mrs. Weasley's address book. "Everything will work out, I'm sure..."

_-_

Ron squeaked as a spotlight highlighted a dark red curtain. The curtain parted to reveal a blonde woman dressed in white silk and lots of white feathers. She danced out from behind the curtain and onto the table. Ron's companions hooted and cheered, while the groom-to-be buried his face in his hands, highly embarrassed.

Harry beamed and punched his best friend on the arm. "How d'you like her, Ronnie?" he shouted over the music and the noise of everyone else in the pub. "She's your bachelor present!"

"I don't know whether I should punch you or flee!" Ron shouted back, furiously, but Harry's attention was now drawn to the dancer, who was stripping off her white gloves with her teeth. Fred and George, each with one of the twin strippers on his lap, cheered and catcalled. Even Neville didn't seem the least bit embarrassed or ashamed; in fact, the stripper had thrown one of her gloves to him and he was waving it in the air.

A foot clad in a white, spike-heeled shoe came down on the table inches from Ron's hands. He yelped and looked up to see the stripper smiling seductively down at him. Loose feathers from her costume floated into his face and tickled his nose.

"So this is the groom," the dancer cooed. "Come on, baby, dance with me!" She extended a slender hand to Ron, who was immediately jabbed by what felt like a thousand elbows, and pushed up onto the table to join the stripper. He cast a murderous glare at Harry and mouthed 'Kill you!", but Harry merely smiled.

The stripper cuddled up to Ron, her feathers tickling his face and making him feel like sneezing. She kissed his cheek and took off one of the feathery garters she had been wearing, and tickled his cheek with it before throwing it to Sirius (who pocketed it; no doubt he was going to force it on Remus). Her hand crept down his chest and under his shirt - Ron gulped and prayed not a word of this night would ever reach Hermione's ears.

The stripper kissed him again, this time on the lips. The others hooted louder, raising their glasses.

"Go on, Ronnie!" Sirius yelled. "We won't tell!"

"Gotta lose your innocence sometime!" Harry called. "Don't want Hermione to think you don't know what you're doing!"

The stripper giggled wildly at that and pressed closer to Ron. She put his arm around her waist and stroked his hair. That was kind of nice - oh, what the hell. He might as well have some fun while he was here - at least she wasn't that blonde guy (who was now sitting on Remus' knee, running his fingers through Remus' tawny hair; the ex-professor looked distinctly hot and bothered). He kissed her back and untied her other feathery garter, tossing it to Bill. Bill hooted and used it to tie back his hair. (what would Fleur say when he came home with that unusual hair accessory?)

Enjoying himself now, Ron did his best to dance with the stripper. His dancing wasn't that great, despite the ballroom dancing lessons Hermione had insisted upon to prepare for their wedding, lest they be humiliated beyond belief in front of all their friends and family, but he was good enough for a drunken guy at a bachelor party. The stripper was obviously delighted; she giggled and joined in as Ron tried to pull off a really half-assed Macarena. Not to be outdone, Harry jumped onto the table and started dancing with them as well. The table swayed and creaked ominously, but everyone was having too much fun to notice.

"Is that your brother?" the stripper shouted to Ron as Bill stood on his chair and began doing an extremely ungainly dance, the cheesy chair wobbling.

Ron giggled, gulping down a random drink Seamus had just forced into his hand, not really caring what it was. "They're all my brothers!" he slurred.

The dancer giggled as if this were the funniest thing in the world, shrugging off her feather boa and tossing it to Dean, who wrapped it around his own neck without a pause. "He's cute! You should grow your hair out like his... not that you're not cute already, but I think you'd be hot with long hair..."

"Maybe I will..." Ron murmured in her ear, pushing back her fluffy golden hair to kiss her neck.

With a little sigh, the dancer pressed herself closer to him. "What do you say we head off somewhere more... private?" she murmured. "No one'll notice, they're all busy..."

Which was true. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all dancing with the enormous hostess; Bill and Charlie, too drunk to care, were kissing over in a corner; Harry was making out with his redheaded girlfriend; Fred, George, and the twin strippers had vanished; Sirius was sneaking off to the loo with Remus and the blonde man in tow; and Percy had his head on the table, snoring loudly and surrounded by empty whiskey glasses.

A fleeting vision of Hermione crossed Ron's mind, but by now he was too pleasantly smashed to pay much attention. He nuzzled the stripper's neck. "Anything you want, my dear."

She giggled. "Come on, then," she purred, taking him by the hand and leading him behind the red curtain.

_-_

"There," Hermione said triumphantly, setting down her quill. "I've written notes to George, Sirius and Remus, Mrs. Tonks, and Seamus. We can send off some people to my parents; they've got tons of room already. Hopefully they'll get back to us soon..."

Mrs. Weasley sank down gratefully in her armchair. "This is going to take a lot of planning for everyone," she sighed. "I feel awful, imposing upon our friends and relatives like this..."

"I wouldn't worry," Anica comforted her. "We've given them enough of a heads-up about everything; even if the people we ask can't take some guests, there's plenty of time to figure out what to do."

There was a loud knock on the door just then. Fleur hurried to answer it. When she opened the door, they all gaped in horror at the sight of five redheaded, freckled people, all wearing jeans and plaid shirts. Tons of suitcases, each looking as battered as if they had been dragged across the country (and probably had been), were mountained up all over the Weasleys' porch.

A redheaded woman stood at the fore of the group. She was dressed in a hideous, patched, paisley dress with a matching kerchief tied in her frizzy red hair. When she grinned, it was to reveal the absence of several teeth.

"Howdy, y'all!" she crowed.

_-_

Ron found himself walking down a dimly-lit hallway, hand-in-hand with the stripper. The only thing he could really see was her white costume, but he could faintly make out the outlines of doors every few feet. More disturbing noises were coming from behind these doors, but by now Ron didn't really care.

The stripper opened one of the doors and led him inside, flicking on the light as she did. The room itself was pretty cheesy, with a dirty floor and peeling wallpaper. A bed was pushed against one wall, its mattress looking pretty sad. Ordinarily Ron would have avoided a filthy bed like the plague; but not tonight. He pulled the stripper into his lap.

"Is this your first time?" the stripper breathed.

"Er - no," Ron lied. She gave him a skeptical look, and he shrugged. "Okay, it is..."

She smiled. "Well... after I'm done with you, you'll have learned plenty... your girlfriend had better thank me..."

_-_

"Of course, Hermione, darling," Lovey Granger cooed into the phone. "We'd be pleased to lend a hand... just send them right over..."

Her husband entered the room just as she hung up the phone. "Was that Hermione?"

"Yes... she's sending a few guests our way," Lovey said calmly. "Ron's relatives arrived early - wanted to sightsee, I suppose - and no one has room to put them up yet. She asked if we could let them stay for awhile, and I agreed."

Thurston looked unsure. "But... are you sure they're trustworthy...?"

"Hermione has a good sense of judgment. I'm sure she wouldn't send us anyone she thought we couldn't trust."

"I suppose..."

The doorbell chimed just then. The maid hastened to answer it. Lovey and Thurston hurried to look casual yet elegant, posing themselves on the sofa and waiting. The maid poked her head into the parlour a few minutes later. She looked a little flustered.

"Ma'am - sir - some people on the porch say they're here to visit for awhile... but I've never seen them before in my life..."

"Don't worry, they're relatives of Hermione's fiancée," Thurston boomed. "Bring them in."

"Very well..." the maid curtsied and hurried back into the foyer. She returned a few minutes later, leading five redheaded people, all of whom were dragging dilapidated-looking luggage.

"Well, gol-ly," the tallest, a man, said. He was dressed in faded, patched overalls and a plaid shirt with mysterious stains on it; his boots were caked with dirt. "Ain't this the pur-tiest house I ever did lay my eyes on."

Lovey tried not to twitch as a plump woman in a patched dress seized her in a hug. "So y'all's Ronnie's in-laws! Ain't you nice, lettin' us stay like this!" Thurston, who was having his hand pumped enthusiastically by the redheaded man, gave his wife a bemused look. Lovey cleared her throat and tried to remember her manners.

"Well, it's lovely to have you here, Mr., Mrs. Weasley..."

"Aw, shucks!" boomed the man. "It won't do to be a'callin' us all proper like that! Name's Uwaine. This is my wife, Billie Jean (the fat woman in the patched dress) - and our children - Bobbie Sue, Johnny Boy, and Wally."

The three teenaged children grinned crookedly at Thurston and Lovey, revealing large amounts of missing teeth. Now beginning to wonder where these people were from, Lovey forced a smile.

"Well, then, Uwaine, Billie Jean - the maid will show you to your rooms..."

"Hey, Paw! Lookit this here thing!" one of the kids crowed. It was the younger son, and he was holding one of Lovey's Tiffany lamps that had been in her family for generations. "I push this here l'il button, an' the lights, they come on!"

"Gosh, we ain't got nuthin' like that up in Arkansas," Uwaine drawled.

"Oh, please, put that down!" Lovey cried. "It's a priceless antique -"

Thurston saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and whirled around to see Bobbie Sue rubbing her cheek against the long, lacy curtains. "Maw, these curtains, they's so soft I could sleep on'em!" She said, wrapping the end around her waist so it looked like a skirt.

Uwaine laughed. "Boy howdy, Bobbie Sue, you look just like that Miss America what we seen on the television down to the appliance store!"

Thurston and Lovey exchanged looks of despair. "How long are they going to be here?" Thurston demanded in a whisper.

"Until the wedding..." Lovey groaned.

"I think I need a drink..." her husband mumbled, shuffling off to the bar.

_-_

By midnight, everything in the house had been pawed over. Things had been rearranged, and a lot of the Grangers' belongings were now in places they didn't, well, belong.

The kitchen had been an extreme interest to the Weasleys, none of whom seemed to have ever seen appliances or an electric range before. The electric can opener/knife sharpener had been one of the most popular items in the room, until Johnny Boy somehow cut himself on it. This resulted in a trip to the bathroom to bandage Johnny Boy's bleeding finger, the whole family following.

The Weasleys had been as equally amazed by the bathroom. Their amazement made it clear to Thurston and Lovey that their guests had never experienced indoor plumbing before. Rather sad, really, Thurston reflected, watching as the Weasleys turned the shower on and off and flushed the toilet several times.

"Hey Paw! What's this here goofy-lookin' thing?" Wally asked, jiggling the handle of the bidet.

"I think that's what them rich folk call 'bee-days,'" Uwaine said, nodding and jiggling the handle as well. "I think they use them for -"

"Um - it's getting late," Lovey cut in hastily. "I believe it's time to turn in!"

"Well, gol-ly, if it ain't just about that time," Billie Jean drawled. "Now, where did Johnny Boy and Bobbie Sue run off to?"

SMASH.

Lovely screamed at the top of her lungs and raced out of the bathroom. When she reached the parlour, her worst fears were confirmed. Bobbie Sue and Johnny Boy were looking down at a shattered glass lamp - one of Lovey's antique Tiffany lamps.

"Now, Bobbie Sue, Johnny Boy, that weren't very nice..." Uwaine began. But he was cut off by Lovey, who was beside herself with fury.

"THAT WAS AN ANTIQUE! IRREPLACEABLE! I WON'T HAVE THIS ANYMORE! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!"

And seizing the poker from the fireplace, she chased all the Weasleys out of her house.

"I see," Mrs. Weasley sighed when Hermione got off the phone. "I'll just have to send them off to someone else... oh, I hope they're home by now..."

_-_

Ron awoke the next morning in the same grungy bed he had slept with the stripper in. She was still stretched out beside him, her fluffy blonde hair hanging over her face. In the daylight, she didn't look half as gorgeous as she had that night. Ron sat up, rubbing his head, which ached. His mouth tasted and felt like dryer lint, and he was dressed in only his boxers and one sock. He blinked a few times, trying to place his surroundings. Finally, it hit him. The strip club, the bachelor party - bloody hell.

He looked back at the stripper in horror. The thought of what Hermione would say if she found out made him cringe. What if - what if he had gotten the stripper pregnant, or gotten a disease from her? He gulped, and cursed everyone a million times in his mind. Harry, Sirius, Fred, George - all of them! They all must die!

He flopped back on the bed and put an arm over his eyes. It was all the sodding party's fault.

As of eight a.m., Ronald Weasley swore he'd never drink again.

_-_

"Did you have fun last night, Remmie?" Sirius mumbled as they Apparated beside their mailbox.

"Yes, very fun," Remus yawned, pulling a few bills and a catalogue from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes from the mailbox. "I always had a feeling you preferred blondes..."

"They're nice, but you're my favourite," Sirius said, rubbing his aching forehead. "Blimey. All I want right now is a shower and some sleep. And... maybe a snuggle or two..."

Remus rolled his eyes as they walked up the drive. They stopped when they saw several redheaded people sitting on their porch, surrounded by mountains of luggage.

"Well, gol-ly!" Uwaine Weasley trumpeted, standing up and saluting them. "Lookit this! We get to stay with that gay convict and werewolf what's so famous!"

Sirius and Remus looked at each other and began to cry.

_-_

_Upcoming attractions…._

**Ch/7: Love, Actually** – Hermione's on the warpath. It looks like she's discovered where Ron was last night, and now Ron, Harry, and Sirius are her most hated people. Will there be a wedding after all? Or are Ron and Hermione doomed to wallow in angst for all eternity? And what will Sirius and Remus do about the hillbillies on their porch?


	7. Analyze This

A/N – Er… we apologize for being lazy and almost-mortally wounded by Writers' Block. It's an evil disease, I tell you. But we did manage to finally, at long last finish the next chapter and we're back into the swing of things, ready to see this fic out to the very end! Thanks to all of you who have been the most faithful, patient, FANTASTIC readers EVER in the history of the universe. (Yes, we're sucking up. But you guys really so rock immeasurably.)

This chapter and the next contain much, much more angst and seriousness than the rest of the fic. We still did out best to be funny, but, well… heartbroken people aren't typically funny. Do enjoy anyway! Oh, and please also note that this chapter's title has changed (due to the breaking uo of some ideas and the fleshing out of some others). In Chapter 6, we said 7 would be titled 'Love Actually', but that title has been pushed back to Chapter 8. This chapter is now known as 'Analyze This'. Now, without further adieu….

_"Analyze This"_

The sound of the door creaking open almost didn't wake her up, and she hated to admit that she might have fallen asleep in the first place. She yawned, looked at the clock – it read four-thirty-four – and set aside the book she had been reading. Two of the pages were bent, and the spine cracked from how she had lain on it – just wonderful.

A light came on dully in the kitchen, and the door banged shut. There was the faint noise of feet on a wood floor, then a thump, and a crash: "Shit!" If she squinted, she could make out a bent-over shadow trying to upright a lamp and fit the plug into an outlet in the semi-darkness. She stretched, and moved to get up; "Ron?" she called, stifling another yawn. "Is that you, honey?"

There was a moment of silence, and the shadow in the other room paused in his efforts with the lamp, as if his mental struggle was taking all his concentration. "No, it's-" before deciding that wasn't the most intelligent course of action. That was Ron all over.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, finally setting the lamp on its side and cautiously shuffling into the parlour where she was swinging her legs off the couch and onto the floor. "Hey, you can go back to sleep, I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered, kissing her cheek and sitting in the chair opposite her.

"No, I have work in a couple hours… It's going to be just horrible." With a sigh, she sat up and gathered her mass of curls at the nape of her neck. "I waited for you… I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I've been so tired…."

"Aw, 'Mione, you didn't have to do that." Ron scratched his head and closed his eyes as she turned on the overhead light. "I just went out with Harry for a bit and we fell asleep watching some God-awful tele-fission show."

Hermione didn't bother to correct him, just folded the blanket she had been using and fixed her askew blouse. "I was worried anyway. I know you don't like phones, but you could have had Harry call. Or you could have just run across the street and let me know how long you would be."

He sighed and stood up, putting his arms around her waist. "But I'm fine, and I'm sorry, and I won't do it ever again. Okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise." She twisted in his arms and kissed his cheek, but he just buried his face in her shoulder. She pulled away.

"Ron, is anything wrong? You seem… testy. Or apprehensive."

Leave it to Hermione to use a big word like "apprehensive" that would just confuse him while he was having an inner battle with his conscience.

Actually, it wasn't a battle. It was more like a war, and somehow the skinny, wimpy conscience-soldiers were wiping the floor with the big, burly, "I'm a man and I have needs" enemy. It was funny how ironic life was sometimes. Or maybe it wasn't irony – Ron never knew the difference between all those literary terms.

All he knew was that he needed to act casual and he was failing. Miserably.

He shook his head and, smiling, made to pull her close again. "No, I'm really all right." She just held him at arms' length and scrutinized him. They were quiet for a minute, staring at each other, then –

"You squeaked."

"I did?" Ron frowned.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, you did."

For a second he didn't reply; then he forced a laugh. "I didn't squeak, I haven't squeaked in awhile and I'm not nervous or anything-"

"And you buttoned wrong," she affirmed, cutting him off. "You squeaked and you buttoned wrong."

He looked down at his chest and paled. "But there's nothing wrong, I promise – Nothing."

Silently, Hermione circled her fiancé, arms still crossed, not smiling. "You had to button… Let me guess. Harry wanted to see your rippling pectorals?"

"Er… yea." He smiled; she gave him an opening. "We had a muscle contest. He was so jealous."

"But I bet Sirius mopped the floor with you – even after being imprisoned forever." Dryly, sarcastically.

Ouch. That hurt. He felt his bruised ego throbbing. She just killed another dozen anti-conscience knights.

"But you promise that's all that happened? That nothing's wrong."

"I promise. Nothing's wrong," he added, arms moving around her waist almost automatically. Gently, he kissed her, and she ruined it by grinning. Smiling back, he pulled her next to him on the couch.

"Guess I'd better help you learn how to button correctly," she mumbled around his lips, pulling at his collar. They lapsed into another silence, more comfortable than the first few, until Hermione opened her eyes and started, "Ron, I have to get ready for work and this isn't – Oh my God, is that a hickey?"

"Mm-hm, right…"

With a speed she had never before possessed, Hermione jumped up and moved clear across the room, kneeing the redhead in the groin in the process. As he doubled over she pulled her blouse closed and began evenly, "That is _not_ my hickey!"

He was dazed for a moment, before he could realise what happened. She was suspicious again! And he thought he was home-free.

Another dozen soldiers dead.

"Hermione, come on, it isn't what it looks like." She was silent for a moment, unmoving, and he took his chance. "Dear, can we-"

"Don't call me that!" she shrieked, turning around and stalking off to their bedroom. Or, more specifically, hers: he had been sleeping on the couch until the wedding.

"But I…" he sputtered, following her at a safe distance. "Can I at least explain?"

The response was automatic: the door slammed in his face, bumping his nose, crushing his big toe. Well, he thought, he deserved that.

One, two, three… three-and-a-half… and the door opened a crack. "What?" came her muffled voice.

He took a deep breath; put his fingers on the edge of the door to steady himself. "I didn't know it would happen. The guys took me to a bachelor party, and I got drunk. And I slept with a stripper." He saw the fire in her eyes and quickly added, "Not with, next to! Next to!"

Too late. The door slammed again. Or would have, if it could have shut completely.

"Ow! Hermione, for the love of- Those were my _fingers_!"

"Good!"

"Not good! Hermione, you're not giving me a chance to explain!" Jamming his fingers into his mouth, Ron opened the door carefully. "Thish ish shtupid, will you jus' lish-"

He was cut off when something hard hit his left temple; for a minute he saw stars, then Hermione packing a suitcase.

"Stop it!" Hurrying over, he made to wrestle the suitcase from her, but she just took her hairbrush and brandished it. When Ron backed off she snapped the suitcase shut, raked her sweaty fringe from her eyes, and looked straight at him.

"I'm leaving."

For a second nothing happened; but when he made a reach for her – "'Mione, please!" – she recoiled and he felt the hairbrush hit his eye and fall harmlessly at his feet.

It took him a confused pause to follow her, and by that time she was out the door and starting across the backyard. He took a deep breath, not knowing that to do. The soldiers from both his armies were dead; he had nothing to say, no idea where to go from here.

She was melting into the darkness. Last chance.

"Hermione, wait!" It was desperate and he knew it, she knew it, and it sounded so small in the dimness of the sunrise but he had no other choice.

She did stop. And he ran up to her, ran just up to the edge of her reach where she could slap him if she wanted but he wouldn't care. He took a deep breath.

"I love you."

The tears were easy to see on her face, illuminated almost, and he reached out a hand to brush them away. Without warning she turned away, trembling, and started up a tirade: "Ronald Weasley, you are the biggest son-of-a-"

She cut herself off when she tripped and, with a splash, fell smack in the middle of the koi pond.

Time passed, and they were both quiet. Ron crossed the rest of the yard and held out a hand to her. It almost seemed as if she would take it, before he made his mistake.

A giggle. That's all it took and she grabbed his wrist, forcing him to land next to her.

He started to say something and with a _pop_ she was gone.

Ron didn't move. Didn't dare breathe, or the water would move, would ripple, and he might be washed away. Or he might falter, do something wrong again, and drown. Then at his funeral Harry would give the eulogy and mention how he drowned in a six-inch deep koi pond and Ron would be even more pathetic than he already was.

And maybe it would get worse. Maybe Hermione would skip his funeral – No. Even better: Hermione and Harry would skip his funeral. And they'd run away together, run away to someplace warm – Australia, or New Zealand, Hawaii, someplace perfect. And they'd have a million babies, and Harry would never make any mistakes.

Hermione wouldn't even need to know what Harry had done to him.

Harry.

There he was, at the other end of the yard. He didn't move and there were so many things Ron wanted to ask: 'How long were you standing there? Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't your scar predict _this_? Why didn't you listen to me when I told you no, no, I didn't want to go in there, I didn't want to hurt Hermione, I didn't, no…

'What kind of friend _are_ you?'

But he didn't say anything. And Harry crossed the lawn, didn't hesitate, and sat beside him in the water.

Harry put his arms around his best friend and pulled him close, like Fred would comfort George, and Ron cried even though he knew he shouldn't.

The sun barely rose, and Ron could see the ripples his tears made when they hit the water and after that the ripples of the raindrops. He was surprised; he didn't drown.

But he wanted to, so he didn't move.

Harry didn't move either, and it was hours later when he finally spoke.

"Don't worry mate. I'll fix it for you."

Ron didn't have the heart to tell him that this couldn't be fixed.

_-_

Sirius Black awoke two days after the ill-fated bachelor party to find himself with a foul-tasting mouth and pounding headache. He rolled over, swiping his hair out of his eyes and cursing under his breath. It looked as if he were in for the mother of all hangovers. With a groan, he flopped back on the pillows. He couldn't even remember what he had done the other night; he vaguely remembered Remus kissing a blonde man in a thong, but it grew hazy after that.

Well. Nothing a shower couldn't fix. He got out of bed, noticing that Remus was missing. However, the smell of bacon and kippers reached his nose as he opened the bedroom door. Remus was playing the good little homemaker, as he always did. Sirius smiled.

The shower and three aspirin did a little to help his headache. Toothpaste solved the nasty taste in his mouth. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, stretching and heading towards the kitchen to kiss his lover good morning.

He stopped short. Sitting around his table were no less than seven people. One was Harry; the other six were all red-haired and freckled. One of these was Ron. The other five were his aunt, uncle, and cousins. Remus was dishing out breakfast, but paused when he saw Sirius standing in the doorway, dripping wet, wearing one towel around his waist and another wrapped around his hair. Suddenly Sirius felt as if he were standing in a bright spotlight. Bobbie Sue was staring at him as if her eyes would fall out.

"How... nice... of you to join us, Sirius," Remus said faintly. "You... do know you're half-dressed, right?"

Sirius felt really stupid. He had forgotten all about the Weasleys coming to stay... but what was Ron doing there? He raised an eyebrow in Ron's direction.

" 'Mione kicked me out," Ron muttered sullenly, before he could ask.

"Love, please get dressed," Remus said. Sirius backed out of the room, burying his face in his hands as soon as he was out of sight and groaning.

The sound of the postman's truck driving away caught his attention. Their house had a rather large flaw; rather, it had no letterbox in the front door. Instead, they had to rely on a postbox at the end of the drive.

You may think it mad for Sirius to go and check the mail in only a towel; but keep in mind, Azkaban has left him slightly unhinged. And on top of that, he was eagerly awaiting the latest issue of The Quibbler, which he loved reading despite Remus' and Hermione's comments that it was complete trash. And so, the old-enough-to-know-better-but-doesn't man headed out to retrieve the post.

At the same time, Bobbie Sue was lurking behind the living room curtains, watching Sirius. Her eyes had latched on to his arse, and she seemed almost hypnotized by it.

"That there's the prettiest man I ever did see," she whispered to herself, fingering the end of one flaming-red pigtail.

Most unfortunately, Johnny Boy heard her. And like most brothers, Johnny Boy was quite protective of his sister, and quite suspicious of any man she took a fancy to. Furious, he locked the front door to keep Sirius from coming back in.

Sirius wandered up the drive, reading The Quibbler and giggling. "'Dragon Eggs Found to Contain Baby Thestrals'," he read aloud. "Sweet Merlin. Where do they get this shite?"

He turned the doorknob. It wouldn't turn.

He tried again. The door was locked.

"Bolloks - who locked the door!" he exclaimed. He could see Bobbie Sue and Johnny Boy peeking at him from the living-room windows, and gestured furiously at the door. "Open up!"

Either they couldn't hear him, or didn't know how to work the lock. Sirius opted for the latter - anyone who lived in a house without indoor plumbing probably didn't have normal locks on their front doors. He pounded furiously on the door. "Open it!"

Johnny Boy opened the window. "You ain't gettin' your convict-y hands on my sister!" he shouted.

"What the - why in the world would I want to get my hands on your sister!" Sirius spluttered. "Let me in!"

"Nothin' doin'!" Johnny Boy slammed the window. The brat! He must have used a Silencing Charm or something to keep everyone in the kitchen from hearing the commotion outside. Sirius shivered. He was still slightly wet, and a breeze had kicked up. In fact, it was more like a wind. A high wind.

A high wind which seized the towel around his waist and tugged it away, sending it flying into a tree, leaving Sirius standing stark naked on the front porch with only The Quibbler to cover himself with.

Their next-door neighbour was just passing by with her children, on the way to the shops. Her eyes widened when she saw Sirius standing on the porch, trying to cover himself with a magazine and failing miserably. She shrieked, and her two children promptly burst into tears.

Sirius jumped a foot in the air at the noise, and tried to hide himself by holding one of the deck chairs in front of him. It didn't help, and the shrieks got louder. Sooner or later, their screeching would attract a policeman, and he'd be in a lot of trouble. Sirius began to cry as well, just as the door flew open.

"Honestly, what is all this racket -" Remus stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide. "Sirius!"

"Help me, Remmie!" Sirius ducked into the house, grabbing his coat from its hook beside the door and wrapping it around himself.

Remus looked around, saw no one but the screaming children, and pulled out his wand. "Obliviate!" The woman and her children stopped crying and carrying on. As they blinked around at their surroundings, getting their bearings back, Remus shut the door.

"Sirius, what happened?" he asked, taking the blanket off the couch and draping it around his shivering lover's shoulders.

"I got locked out," he whimpered pathetically. He didn't bother to mention that it was Johnny Boy's fault. Who would believe him?

"That's why you should get dressed before checking the post," Remus reprimanded him. "I -"

But Remus was cut off by a blood-curdling shriek.

"Good Lord. What now?" Harry muttered.

The scream was coming from the kitchen. Remus, Sirius, Harry, and the Weasleys charged into the kitchen to see what was wrong.

Wally had his hand caught in the toaster, and was screaming his head off. Uwaine and Billie Jean began screaming too, so that Harry and Ron clamped their hands over their ears, and Sirius began crying once more. His poor, poor head.

"Wally! Boy, what HAPPENED!" Uwaine shouted.

"Paw, that thing's a'eatin' his hand!" Bobbie Sue cried.

"It's bewitched, I tells ya!" Billie Jean shrieked.

"Of course it is! It's a bloody WIZARDING TOASTER!" Harry bellowed.

Remus grabbed the toaster plug and yanked it out of its socket; then he took Wally by the wrist and gently extracted his hand from the toaster. "Poor boy... come on, let's fix this..." He led a sniffling Wally into the bathroom, where he applied aloe cream and bandages to the boy's hand. "There. All better." He kissed Wally on the forehead, and gave him a piece of chocolate. (No wonder the man is so poor; he must use all his money to feed his chocolate habit.)

Wally managed a watery smile, gazing adoringly up at Remus. Uwaine and Billie Jean were beaming as well, and Sirius had stopped crying. Sometimes, he was really thankful for Remus' maternal instincts.

Uwaine cast a dark look at the toaster. "Dang robots, always knowed they'd take over the world," he drawled.

_-_

An hour later, peace had been restored. Sirius had finally dressed and breakfasted, and he, Remus, and Harry were in the kitchen, washing dishes and leaving Ron to entertain his relatives. It was only fair, after what Sirius and Remus had been through. 

"So Hermione's kicked Ron out," Sirius said, as he dried a plate and handed it to Harry.

His godson nodded, putting it in the cupboard. "Yeah. He's really depressed about it, too. I think we should talk to Hermione, see if we can't fix this." He didn't say anything about the enormous guilt he felt over being the sole cause of this; but he didn't need to. Remus and Sirius knew him too well.

"You should do it, Remmie," Sirius said to his lover. "You and Hermione have always been close and chatty. She'll listen to you."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, nodding. "She likes you a lot, Remus, and you're just about the only person in existence who she can never get mad at. Give it a try, please?"

"I suppose I should." Remus sighed, pulling the drain plug out and drying his sudsy hands on a towel. "Where might I find her at this time of day?"

"Work," Harry supplied. "This is her day to work at the library, I think; if she's not there, try Madame Malkin's."

"Okay." Remus kissed Sirius on the cheek, and Harry on the forehead. "I'll do my best." He shrugged on his old, threadbare overcoat, and Disapparated. Harry and Sirius were left standing in the kitchen, looking glumly at each other.

"I guess we should go help Ron out," Harry said, nodding towards the living room. Sirius sighed.

_-_

It was easy enough to find the library where Hermione worked weekday mornings, and the minute Remus stepped through the door he spotted Hermione's bushy hair over by the Winston Churchill memorabilia. Non-fiction. His favourite section.

But he wasn't here to read. Sirius and Harry had sent him on the important mission of finding Hermione and helping to clear up the mishap with Ron (though he didn't plan to fix the entire, or even most, of the mess himself) – and since he loved Harry's two best friends almost like his own children (if he had any, of course) he was more than happy to help.

But the moment he came face-to-face with Ron's fiancée he knew it would be harder than he thought.

"Remus, I don't want to talk right now, and I'd appreciate it if every reminder of my ex-fiancé were to leave. Immediately." With that she haughtily turned, swept her hair over a shoulder, and went back to shelving books.

And rather poorly, he thought, by the looks of it.

"Hermione, I truly don't think 'Shakespeare" follows 'Stoker' in the Dewey Decimal System."

The back of her neck became very red and for a moment Remus wondered if he would have to dodge flying books – that is, until she coldly informed him, "They do if I'm shelving _backwards_."

Remus resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. "Hermione, come and talk with me. Five minutes," he all but pleaded.

"But I have _ever_ so much _work_ to do!"

He quickly scanned the room: a cursory glance revealed an old many struggling with super-tiny print, two college students trying to argue "intelligently" over Aristotle (the first insisting the philosopher hung himself), and a couple "discreetly" making out. "This place is empty."

"But what if they start flooding in? Coming in droves, itching with questions about locating Non-fiction. It takes a genius, you know!"

He wondered if she might be going a bit mad but kept the thought to himself.

Luckily her supervisor, an older woman of about fifty, was floating by. Putting on his most charming smile, Remus asked in his usual polite manner, "Dear, would it be dreadful if I stole Hermione here for an afternoon tea?"

The woman fixed her gaze on the former-professor; at the glare he considered running home and letting Ron deal with his own problems.

All at once she threw her arms in the air and burst, "Oh for goodness sakes, go! It's not as if anyone actually _reads_ anymore!"

And that was how Hermione found herself sitting across from Remus at a mostly-deserted tea shop, not, as she had suspected, being lectured about forgiveness, but rather making strained conversation about the weather with a man she never before had trouble talking to. But she knew he had an underlying agenda; because Remus's attempts at small-talk were about the most pathetic she had ever heard, and that included her first date with Ron to Hogsmeade village.

But she wouldn't think about Ron now. She scowled.

"…as I said, lovely weather, just lovely." Remus sipped his tea. A fat raindrop hit Hermione's forehead and she scowled harder.

"Can you lecture me about Ron so after I tell you to mind your own business I can get back to work, guilt gnawing away at me while I incorrectly shelve _The Anarchist's Cookbook_ after _Shadow Puppets_ because I forgot that the "the" doesn't count when you shelve?"

He forgot to take a sip and stared at her blankly. "You've been planning that for the last half hour, haven't you?"

"…well, yes," she admitted sheepishly.

For a minute he was quiet, stirring his lukewarm tea with a finger, then:

"I wasn't going to lecture you about Ron."

She sat back, dumbfounded. "You weren't?"

"No. I was going to ask you when he could go back to your house though, because, quite frankly, between his family, Sirius, Harry, and I, there isn't room enough at our house for another Weasley."

"Oh. Um, tonight? Or, no… tomorrow? After I get my stuff. Whenever." Still dumbfounded.

"Hermione, I'm surprised at you! You should have thought these things through more clearly before you decided to go calling off a wedding and thrusting Ron on us…"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not like I planned this! I only left him this morning!"

"Well, maybe you should have let him speak and all this wouldn't have happened." He allowed himself a little smirk.

"Reverse psychology! I'm onto you, Remus."

His smirk died. He knew he shouldn't have tried to be the "bad" guy; that part just wasn't cut out for him. If he had tried something different…

But she wasn't finished.

"I'm onto your charade, so it won't work. You're going about it all wrong. This isn't you. You aren't this kind of angry, uncaring person. It would have worked better, the lecturing me thing, because that is you, and it would have made more sense-"

"I know."

She still wasn't done.

"And _furthermore_ I shouldn't listen to you _anyway_ because you _always_ forgive _Sirius_ when he comes back drunken and stupid and that's not setting much of a precedent."

Silence. She smiled.

He frowned. "Whoa. Wait a minute. Go back to that."

She smiled even wider. "Check, and mate."

"I don't know what to address first. The fact that you stole that from Ron, or the fact that you have _no clue_ what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

"No, you don't! You think you're strong for not forgiving Ron for whatever reason and you think I'm the weak one. Well, let me tell you something, Hermione Granger." He had never been upset with her before, and now he leaned close, his voice hoarse and low. "I forgive Sirius because I don't pass judgment, and because I love him. The fact that he apologizes to me and never does anything too outlandish is proof enough that he feels the same. And if ever the time comes when I need _him_ to forgive _me_ I want to know that's possible. We all make mistakes, and love's supposed to overcome them, and I thought it could be that way for you and Ron. I guess it's not. Maybe I was wrong."

He was breathless, and when he stopped to regain his composure Hermione made to say something – but didn't… tried again – and couldn't. It was as if she was rendered completely incapable of any sort of human speech and, in fact, human reaction, save letting her mouth hang open wordlessly, stupidly.

But that was only for a moment. A brief moment.

Then she stood, clenched her fists, and whispered quickly, furiously, "Just because you're a saint doesn't mean we all are. We all have our faults, and one of mine happens to be judging quickly – but that's too bad because I did love Ron and he knew my faults and, dammit, he should have known what this would do! He should have known…"

And she turned. He could only see her back but she was trembling, and he knew that with trembling came silent sobs that meant they were at the halfway point. He rose from his chair, went to stand behind her, but made no move to reach out. He just started softly, slowly, "Hermione, you're right. We _all_ have our faults."

She didn't respond. He reached up, put his hands on her shoulders; and she leaned back, and he half-hugged her, and went on in his soothing voice.

"Ron's faults are that he's stupid, and he's childish, and he's not even close to being omniscient. He's your complete opposite."

He took a deep breath; she said nothing, and he continued. "But that means you can't expect him to react like you would. And so you have to give a little. So does he. And he's trying… you need to try at least as much. Okay?"

She gave a little hiccough. Rubbed her hand against her eyes and pulled away, still looking down at the street. They were quiet for a moment, and he could feel the cars drive past.

Slowly she turned, reached into her pocket, and pressed some coins into his hand. "Thank you for the tea, Professor Lupin," she added solemnly, never pulling her eyes from the cobbled stones.

And then she walked away, and he let her.

He did his part. It was up to her now.

_-_

They had barely entered the chaotic living room when Sirius turned to his godson as if suddenly remembering something. "Oi. Harry, mind keeping an eye on the Weasleys for me? I -"

SMASH. Followed by giggles.

"Go-lly, Bobbie Sue, I didn't think you couldn't juggle that!" Wally's voice. He seemed to have recovered astonishingly fast from his burn.

Sirius closed his eyes briefly as though praying for courage; he finally opened them and tried again. "I want to talk to Ron for a minute."

"Oh." Harry blinked as he realised what Sirius meant; he nodded vigorously. "Sure... I'll do my best."

"Thanks." Sirius caught Ron's upper arm in a vise-like grip, and the redhead squeaked. "Just don't let them find -"

"Maw! Paw! Looki-here! The men in these here picture-y books ain't wearin' no clothes! They's kissin'!" Johnny Boy shouted. "And they's - gorry - they's - I didn't even know people could do that..."

"-That," Sirius winced, hauling Ron out the back door and into the garden. Harry was left to pry his godfather's gay pornography from the hands of Ron's young, impressionable cousins. He seized the magazine from Johnny Boy's hands and stuffed it hastily under a sofa cushion.

"Er -" he had to think of a way to distract them, fast. Johnny Boy looked traumatized by what he had seen in the wank mags, and had crumpled to the floor with his thumb in his mouth; but his brother and sister were still jumping around like kangaroos. Harry looked 'round wildly, and his eyes landed on the game cupboard. He wrenched it open, surveying the stack of boxes. "What would you all say to a round of 'The Game of Loaf'?"

No response. Wally and Bobbie Sue were ripping apart the living room, while their parents were sitting on the sofa flipping through channel after channel on the television. Harry made a vain attempt to pick up some of the mess. "Come on, guys, Sirius and Remus are going to be mad - Remus lives for neatness, when he comes home he's going to have a mental breakdown..."

No one showed any signs of listening. To his horror, Harry looked up in time to see Bobbie Sue opening the record cabinet. "What's this here thing?"

"No, no!" Harry cried. If the Weasleys even so much as touched Sirius' precious records, death and destruction would follow. Swiftly. Without mercy. "No, don't touch!" he shrieked, his voice reaching scared-little-girl levels, and he dropped the armload of stuff he had just picked up in order to lunge between the Weasleys and the record cabinet. "Sirius will kill us! I mean it!"

"Go-lly, I didn't think there was anythin' important in there," Wally said, his eyes widening. "I just thunk it were more picture-y books..."

"You don't want to be a-lookin' in them, Wally," Johnny Boy whispered from behind them, where he was curled up on the carpet in the fetal position. "They's scary."

Harry took off his specs and rubbed at his forehead, suddenly more tired than he could ever remember feeling. Defending Sirius' records and wank mags wasn't worth all the Galleons in the world.

_-_

Meanwhile, Sirius had dragged Ron to the edge of the garden. He turned to face the younger man, hands deep in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically - no pun intended - serious. He took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Ron waited.

"Er -" Sirius looked up at the sky, almost as if the words he wanted to say were written there. "Ron, look... about the other night. The - bachelor party, I mean."

Ron gulped. He should have known. "Um... sure, Sirius."

"I know we shouldn't have done it..." Sirius was sweating slightly; he scratched at his stubbly chin nervously. "I mean, it was all supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but then everything went... well. I guess I should blame myself... after all, I was the one who encouraged Harry to set it all up..." He looked dreadfully embarrassed. "I should've said something..."

"It's not your fault I did what I did," Ron muttered. It was really Harry's fault, but he didn't dare say that out loud. Of course, a certain amount of guilt fell upon his own shoulders.

"I shouldn't have let Harry do it," Sirius said stubbornly. "When he suggested a bachelor party, I expected a few drinks down at the Leaky Cauldron. But when he asked about strippers, I should have put a stop to it."

"What would you have done?" Ron blurted out. "It's not like Harry listens to anyone when they tell him not to do something, even if it is you. If you do something stupid, you always have Remus there to stop you - and you listen to him. But Harry never listens." He kicked angrily at a pebble. "It's not anyone's fault but mine," he admitted grudgingly. "I went along with it. I took the drinks, I kissed the stripper, and I was the one who took her to bed!" He stared at the ground. "And now Hermione's furious with me. I'm afraid she's going to break off the engagement."

There was a long pause as both men stared glumly at the ground, the sky, and the flowerbeds. Finally Sirius spoke.

"Listen, Ron... all people make mistakes in their relationships. If you and Hermione love each other enough - which I'm sure you do - you can overcome this."

"I don't know. You should have seen Hermione's face when I - er - let it slip. I swear, she hated me, mate. I could see it in her eyes." Ron looked anxiously at Sirius. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Sirius hesitated, then reached out and gripped Ron's shoulder, giving it a kind of reassuring squeeze. "Hermione would never hate you. You have to prove to her that you truly regret ever doing what you did, and make it up to her. Make her see that she's the only one you love, and what happened at the party was a complete mistake!"

"And exactly how do I do that?" Ron couldn't help but feel skeptical. Sirius had it easy; he and Remus were magically bound, and Remus would love him no matter what stupid things he did. It wasn't so easy with Hermione. She could stay mad for a long time, and her vengeance would be swift and painful.

"I... hm. First off, you can try apologizing."

"I already tried. She closed the door on my fingers," Ron scowled.

"Oh. Well... when Remus is upset with me, I try to do nice things for him. Sometimes I bring flowers home for him, or a new book, or chocolates - real winners, those... I've tried making dinner for him once or twice. I haven't been very successful, but as they say, it's the thought that counts." He paused, remembering the last time he had tried to cook for Remus and ended up setting the stove on fire. "At least, Remus thinks so. It always melts his heart." A lecherous grin spread across his face. "Make-up sex is the best."

Ron cleared his throat loudly. Sirius jumped, and grinned sheepishly at him. "Sorry... anyway, my point is, you've got to get off your arse and do something to make Hermione fall in love with you all over again. This may surprise you, Ron, but relationships need constant work. If you work hard to prove to Hermione that you regret what you've done, and will never do it again, she'll be back in your arms in no time."

"Yeah..." Ron bit his lip. He could see what Sirius was getting at. He didn't like the idea of cooking for Hermione, but he could try doing something else for her. Even sending her a huge bouquet might help. He managed a small smile. "Thanks, Sirius."

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "No problem. Come on, let's see how Harry's doing."

"Sure." Ron followed the older man into the house. He stopped on the top step and looked back over his shoulder at the slowly sinking sun. He loved Hermione with all his heart, and somehow, with a bit of luck, he was going to prove it to her.

_-_

_Upcoming attractions…._

**Ch/8: 'Love Actually'** – In a mishmash chapter, Ron sets about trying to prove to Hermione that he really loves her with a series of wacky schemes, each one more desperate and hopeless than the one before it and Harry and Hermione have a heart-to-heart discussion. Meanwhile, as the future bride and groom try to fix their romance, the wedding must go on! Mrs. Weasley tries to deal with her baby boy getting married; Ron and his ushers need to be fitted for tuxedos and end up battling… reject disco suits?


	8. Love, Actually

A/N – Hm – massive amounts of chocolate to any faithful readers we may have left. Liz blames the lateness of this chapter on getting all wrapped up in having a life. But it died again. So. Have fun with extra-stupid Ron. Minor HBP spoiler somewhere in the middle here, but if you haven't read the book you won't catch it. Just thought we'd throw it in because, well, it's fun. winces and pokes RonThePrat Vive la R/Hr! And, erm, George ends up rocking our worlds (well… mostly Liz's) in this, so worship him with us. Come on… you know you want to….

Oh! And something I just noticed – why are Hermione and Ron having a Muggle wedding, you may ask? Because it's fun. And because Hermione's family are Muggles. (Why I'm answering my own question I'll never know….)

_"Love, Actually"_

Ron didn't have the slightest clue what to do, and decided the best way to get back in Hermione's good graces was to speak to her parents, and have them mention something to her about what a handsome, strapping young lad he was and how much he needed forgiveness at such a stressful, vulnerable time in his life, the poor dear.

Yes, he was aware he was desperate.

And so it was with a heavy heart that Ron Weasley trudged back down Wheeler Avenue. It was cloudy, windy, and grey ('Of course,' he thought) and the elderly couple across the street was sitting on the front porch tossing him strange looks; once, when the wind died down, he was able to make out their tortured whispers: "At the first sign of anything unusual, call the cops, okay, Herman?"

Just wonderful.

Time for Round 2 with the little black box. With a sigh, Ron spoke at the top of his lungs, "Hel-LO, it's RO-nald A-gain…"

There was a pregnant pause. In a frosty voice the otherwise-pleasant voice-in-the-box chirped, "I'm _sorry_-"

He cut in. "No, no! I'm here to speak to her parents, if you wouldn't mind."

"Well the Grangers have requested that all Weasleys be barred from the premises and-"

Ron tuned himself out: why did everyone suddenly hate him for simply being alive? He started back down the walk towards the road when all of the sudden he heard Mrs. Granger: "Goodness, Margaret, let the poor boy in, oh yes, please do…."

The gate swung open and Ron glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Quickly as he could, he performed his "happy dance" and congratulated himself on his ingenious idea to see the Grangers. The gate swung shut as he strutted through the fence towards the house—

To meet the barrel of a shotgun in the grip of Lovey.

"Yes, you poor Weasleys drive me _insane_! You're all just off your rockers, totally nuts, completely delusional or the like-!" With a mad cackle she fired twice in the air and made to fix her inhuman glare on Ron.

He was already over the seven-foot-tall fence and halfway down the street.

-

Harry told him to start with a list.

This, of course, wasn't particularly sound advice. First and foremost, because it came from Harry, of all people; and also because at the time this advice was dispensed, Harry was rushing out the door like a madman, dodging various Weasleys and the usual drunk Sirius or two (as Harry's godfather usually had the keen habit to pop up more than once when the time was most inopportune). Granted, Harry was going to meet Hermione and coerce and/or blackmail her to take her fiancé back – but Ron still couldn't help thinking Harry's time would be better spent brainstorming The Ultimate Way To Grovel, given that Harry's "talk" would, ultimately, fail: Harry had never been much of an orator.

But apparently Harry's mission was _so_ much more important, and the only thoughts he could lend Ron were to "have a backup or five" and "use a list to keep straight." Well, Ron could understand this – he usually had a limited amount of thoughts floating around his brain, too.

Ron pondered. This was stupid. Harry was _not_ helping him, and his "idea" was more like a sporadic hodgepodge of random synapses misfiring. Nevertheless, however idiotic and half-baked (and lukewarm and half-hearted… yes, Ron spent awhile with his Thesaurus, as well), this idea was a start. And Ron needed a start.

Two hours, twelve butterbeers, and three bathroom breaks later Ronald Weasley had brainstormed a list of a hundred different ways to make Hermione re-fall in love with him. It took another twenty minutes to reread it and cross off all the far-fetched schemes (like "buy her the copyright to "Hogwarts: A History"), improbable situations ("after becoming Minister of Magic, promise her New Zealand"), and bizarre fantasies that, quite frankly, gave him daymares when he stopped to really consider them. ("Transfigure self into Draco Malfoy in drag and subsequently proclaim self hottest man alive only to cause 'Mione's eyeballs to be permanently transfixed on my somehow-attractive pale non-pecs," being, by far, the most frightening. Where that came from he didn't know, but he supposed by number 97 he had been getting a tad desperate.)

So he was dismayed when he tacked his final list to Remus's fridge to learn that it consisted of seven do-able ideas – only five of which could be carried out in his lifetime. The list had looked so much _bigger_ before he had taken a Sharpie to it. With a sigh, Ron felt his forehead collide against the white metal with a defeated "thunk," and couldn't bring himself to turn around when he sensed Sirius standing behind him.

There was a long, awkward pause, and Ron knew the older man had raised an eyebrow and was suppressing a chuckle in between pauses while he read from beneath a dashed line.

"'Number 42: Change each droplet of ocean-water into an incandescent pearl, string them on the world's biggest piece of yarn – blue, because it's her favourite colour – loop it around the world, and tell her that each loop stands for another point on how much I love her, on a scale of one to ten.' Well, mate, better get cracking – I hear global warming's going to dry up the oceans in about, oh, a thousand years or so."

--

Ron re-checked the list in his pocket. 'Number 5: Buy her flowers. Lots of them.'

Yes, he stole the idea from Sirius, but he had to start somewhere. And besides, he wasn't going to get her just any old flowers – he was going to get the most fantastic, extra-colossal, greatest bouquet he could possibly conjure up. He wouldn't settle for one dozen roses, or two dozen carnations, or four dozen tiger lilies. He needed twelve dozen – of each. And irises, and crocuses, and snapdragons, and violets – which were technically weeds but still pretty. And lilacs – only not the bushes. And lady slippers – before he realized it was illegal to pick them.

And about 25 or so more different kinds of flowers, but maths never really was his strong point anyway.

The idea was simple: sneak into the house when he knew she was at the library and place the flowers here and there to catch her eye. Then he'd watch her from the across-the-street house with Remus's pair of what he thought was called binoculars: wait for the rainbow array to work its magic. It was elegant, it was tasteful, and with luck Hermione would never know that this was the idea that took the least bit of thinking.

"You're sure you aren't going a bit overboard, right then?" Sirius remarked as the redhead made his way across the street – back and forth, carting flowers a good twenty times.

"No, don't worry. I'm having most of them delivered straight to our house!" He was met with a dumbfounded silence and was only able to shrug at his best friend's godfather.

At first Ron took to putting the flowers in the normal places: in vases on bureaus and tables, or rearranged prettily around the bathroom sink.

When he exhausted that possibility he started to get creative. Flowers served to outline the boundaries between rooms, and they manifested themselves in surprising places like drawers and keyholes. Romantic, and rose petals were found in a five-inch thick layer on the bedspread. Magic spells helped keep carnations on the walls, and baby's breath formed a fuzzy shade over the windows. Hydrangeas carpeted the floors; tulips sprung from every imaginable surface. He began to have to wade from room to room, and when the rest of his flowers were delivered Ron settled for shoving as many in a room as he could and quickly shutting the door. A mess of leaves and stems twined in front of his eyes, and when he was able to make his escape from the flower-house he met Sirius, whose eyes formed two huge saucers.

"Overboard – surely not?"

Ron shrugged. "N-no. It's just enough. It's not like they're oozing out from under the doors or anything."

"Uh-huh." Sirius poked an escaping vine with his foot.

"They're not!" the redhead insisted. And with that he turned on his heel and made for the Black-Lupin house; Sirius stared up at the boy in the upper window, the boy with binoculars, watching his doomed attempt at winning back his fiancée, and sighed.

He barely had time, however, to register the futility when the bushy-haired woman in question discreetly appeared beside her front door. No one else had noticed, save Ron from the upstairs window: on a Muggle-filled street, it was best to take precautions and Apparate straight inside the wizarding houses, but Sirius supposed the stress of the day had caused Hermione to become the least bit flustered, and Apparating in front was a slight mistake. He raised his hand in greeting, but Hermione was too busy fiddling with the keyhole to acknowledge his presence.

He was jerked out of his preoccupation with a hurried "Damn!"; he managed to swiftly avoid falling drainpipe and hissed up at Ron, "Unless you want Hermione to notice you, I suggest you stop leaning half out the window! And fix that pipe later, eh?" Ron sheepishly smirked and shushed the older man by pointing across the street.

Hermione was turning the doorknob, and for a moment she had a half-grinned as the door started to open.

And then it all went straight to hell.

The first wave was of lilacs, and then violets, and in no time flat Hermione was covered in a tide of purple flowers. She emerged, and blinked, and went to say something – but found she had to spit out a mouthful of petals, and merely squealed, eyes wide.

She said nothing as she peered into the house, and simply paled. Sirius stole a glance at Ron as Hermione started into the house; the boy was smiling, but the smile seemed to falter moment-by-moment as crashes inside the house built up, and were soon followed by screams and loud exclamations of disgust. Foul-sounding words, and Ron was ashen.

"Hermione doesn't curse…" he muttered to himself.

Sirius shook his head and resumed watching the plight of Hermione.

She must have magicked the windows open, because there was a sudden burst of colour from each, and flowers tumbled in tangles down the sides of the house. "Stupid thorns!" came from somewhere near her bedroom. Sirius would have laughed if this wasn't so severe and if Ron hadn't chosen that moment to lean so far out of the window that he landed with a thump in the bush next to Sirius.

The ex-convict turned to see if Ron was okay, but the door across the street opened with a bang and revealed Hermione, petals in her hair, whole flowers stuck in beltloops and buttonholes, her blouse only partly buttoned. It looked like she was going to start on a tirade, but instead let fly a rather impressive string of sneezes. This lasted a good five minutes – Hermione alternately trying to speak and instead sneezing – until she was able to straighten and point a shaking finger at Ron, still half-concealed by the bush.

She held up a daisy, and calmly proceeded to pick petal after petal and let it fall to the ground. Sirius heard Ron's whispers – "She loves me, she loves me not…" – and his short intake of breath when she let the stem fall. Grinding it with her toes, Hermione took a deep breath.

"Ronald Weasley, I _abhor_ you."

And with a small _pop_ the livid brunette Disapparated. Sirius looked down at Ron, who had covered his face with his hands. Slowly, Sirius pried each finger from where they were almost imbedded in his eyeballs, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I forgot… she's allergic to tulips." Sadly.

Sirius remained quiet.

"And maybe that was a bit much." Grudgingly.

Still quiet.

"Well I may have lost the battle, but I have yet to lose the war?" A little uncertainly.

Sirius patted his head. "Good man."

And with that, he proceeded back into the house amidst Ron's calls of, "D'you know where I can find a tuba player…?" He needed a drink.

-

"Ahem. Ahem. Ah-"

Ron broke off in mid-ahem when a drumstick almost lodged itself down his throat. He shut his mouth and sank onto the grass beside the curb. This was hopeless.

An amazing array of people ranging from his fellow Gryffindors to the former Minister of Magic were assembled in the street before him. They were all dressed from head to toe in blue (even Draco Malfoy, who had chosen the occasion to don tight blue jeans from the "Females" department at the nearby Muggle shopping outlet, and a light blue wife-beater that showed off his less-than-muscley, pale arms); each held some type of instrument in his or her hand. All were laughing, talking, and generally ignoring the redhead in front of them, who had been trying to catch their attention with a _Sonorous_ charm gone wrong.

After a peek at her brother Ginny Weasley made a face and conjured a picnic table and foghorn from nowhere. Without a second thought, she climbed to the top, blew her foghorn, and yelled, "If you don't shut up I'm going to Bat-Bogey Hex _all_ of you!"

They shut up. No one wanted to cross Ginny Weasley.

"C'm'ere Ron," she said softly, holding out a hand. Ron took it and she noticed the bags under his eyes, the defeated way he moved. Sure, he was a great stupid prat, but he was her brother, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for the way all his plans were falling through.

"Thanks, Ginny."

"Don't mention it." She sat down next to him and started swinging her legs. She wanted to be very near her brother in case he needed help again.

"Ahem. I trust you all know what I've called you here for." There was a general murmur of assent through the crowd, and Ginny almost caught Ron smiling – but didn't say anything, because that would have ruined his "professional" manner. However, a misty-eyed witch with long blonde hair tentatively raised her hand and continued, without recognition, "Ronald, I don't know-"

"That's alright, Luna," he cut her off. "No one else does either, I haven't said anything – the rest of these gits just don't want to listen to me talk." He glared out at the crowd, who all were suddenly, sheepishly studying their shoes. Ginny looked at her own, as well. Hm. She needed new ones for the wedding – _if_, of course, that ever actually took place.

"Weasel," came a sudden drawl. "I do expect you to not _insult_ me if you want me help with this ridiculous-"

Draco broke off with a shudder when Ginny, grinning rather evilly, held up a videotape.

"Much better. Thanks Ginn," Ron whispered in an undertone. He raised his voice again. "So this is idea number twenty-three on my list of winning my fiancée back. I hope you all know how to use that instrument in your hand, because today we're going to…." And Ron took another ten minutes to explain what he had planned for them to do.

The crowd collectively smiled, and Ron stood up straight. "So let's practice! Right then – and one – and two – and three-"

Ginny almost felt her ears jump off her head when the unholy noise of close to thirty people playing random notes penetrated the rather thick walls of her skull. It would be a miracle if Ron could pull this off.

-

Harry was standing outside Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, debating whether to go inside or not. On the one hand, he owed his best friend for all but destroying his engagement, driving away the girl he had loved since he was eleven, and getting him kicked out of his house. Harry knew from experience that Sirius and Remus's couch wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world.

But Hermione scared him when she was angry, and besides, if Remus couldn't talk some sense into her, it was almost impossible to think that he, Harry, might be able to. Yes, he had known Hermione for close to a decade, and yes, she and Ron were his best friends in the known universe, but the prospect of talking to an angry woman bent on not forgiving scared him to death.

Harry was ready to turn around and call this a bad job when Madame Malkin herself came tearing out of the shop, shouting at Hermione, "I'm running out for a cuppa, m'dear, I'll be back later and – take care of this handsome young man here while I'm gone!" She pushed Harry through the door and, before dashing away, hissed fairly loudly, "All she does is mope and stab pincushions like they're that fiancé of hers, _fix this_!"

He could hear her sniffling indignantly before he walked through the door.

"Doesn't know what she's talking about, never been married, has she, and this is ridiculous her saying I've been moping around, it's not like this is worth moping over and all the same she's _never been married-_"

"Well, you haven't either," Harry greeted her matter-of-factly. "Hullo, Hermione."

For a minute she just glared, and then she stabbed a maroon pincushion with an overlarge needle. Harry winced. "Look, Harry, if you are here to talk about _him_, well, Remus already tried!" She crossed her arms.

"Look, Ron…"

She held up a hand to stop him. "He tried to kill me with tulips."

"Oh, well." There didn't seem to be a sufficient reply, and so he stood atop a wooden stool. "Really I need dress robes. Really," he added again, seeing the skeptical look on her face.

Hermione threw a piece of green cloth over his head and shoulders, and he wondered if she wasn't out to suffocate him. Interesting a death as that would be Harry rather wanted to live, and pulled the cloth so it didn't obstruct his breath anymore. He went to speak, but Hermione beat him to it.

"What do you need new dress robes for?"

"The wedding," he replied automatically. He could see her face turning red in the mirror, and a second later felt something sharp jab him in the upper thigh. "Ow! Hermione!"

"Sorry," she said, not sounding the least bit sorry. "But you know, you're wasting your money."

He didn't say anything for a moment as Hermione gathered excess cloth at his waist. "Oh Harry, you're too skinny… if Ron wasn't such a big idiot I'd say we'd have you over for dinner, but…." She was wistful, and Harry grinned to himself.

He shrugged. "Maybe I'll see Seamus and Ginny when they get married – and Remus and Sirius feed me fine – or I can visit Bill and Fleur… or Katie and Oliver are always willing to dole out extra places…." He was naming every happy couple he could, and at each new name Hermione frowned deeper.

"No matter anyway. I can buy food for myself. Maybe I'll even use the money I have because I'm not _wasting_ any on dress robes."

"You don't want these, then?" She sounded sad, like she would miss the company if he left.

"No, I do want them – because I think there's going to be a wedding. Because I know you and Ron, and he misses you, and it's like you told me way back in fourth year, you miss him… because I know you do, don't try to deny it." She tried to stab him with another pin, but he moved deftly to avoid her. "Listen to me, Hermione – he's miserable without you, and I know it can't be very much fun for you, trying to get to sleep without his snores – they always lull you to sleep, I know, it was the same when we shared a dorm… and please, I know you want to wear your wedding dress. He wants to see you in it. That's all he's wanted for years now, and even when he pulls stupid stunts like this, he's only doing it because he isn't as smart as you and – and it was my fault, I talked him into it, I lead him into the bar and I hired that – that _girl_, and I gave him the drinks."

He was expecting her to jab him again, but she didn't. Instead, she laid down her measuring tape and put the pincushion aside, leaning back on her heels. "He's still responsible."

"Yea. He is. But he's sorry, too."

Neither of them said anything, and Harry awkwardly hugged her, listing to her sniffles every once in awhile. They didn't break apart until-

"What in the world is that?" Hermione pulled back and ran to the door, flinging it open, Harry at her heels. She gasped and Harry, in his half-finished robes, peeked around her slight form.

There was Ron, wearing stilts and brandishing one of Remus's good cooking spatulas like a conductor's baton. He waved it back and forth, teetering in the same motion, over a crowd of people, all holding various primitive instruments in their hands. Fred and George each had a handful of spoons that they smacked against their knees in a very definite rhythm; their friend Lee Jordan was playing the washboard. Neville was beating tin cans with sticks, Seamus and Ginny each had hold of garbage can tops they were crashing together in lieu of cymbals, and Dean Thomas was playing what looked like the kazoo. Sirius was holding an electric guitar that looked like new, and Remus was using some sort of complicated spell to amplify the sound. The rest in the gathering had an odd assortment of objects thrown together to make noise – save Draco Malfoy, whose delicate hands were running over the keys of a baby grand, and Pansy Parkinson, who sat atop the piano in a dark blue ball gown with a flute to her lips.

Dumbledore himself waved the wand that caused the words from 'Yesterday', an old Muggle song, to float through the air. Ron was singing, albeit off-key.

"Yesterday… all my troubles seemed so _far_ away… Now it looks as though they're he-ere to stay…."

And indeed it did look as though his troubles where there to stay with two burly wizards from law enforcement magicked him down from his stilts and cuffed him for "disturbing the peace." Most everyone else scattered immediately to the doleful sounds of Ron's, "Oh I BE-lieve… in YES-terday…!" still wafting down the street.

As Hermione burst into the tears and turned back to the shop, the only people Harry spotted left were Pansy and Draco, who was trying to play the piano and snog his girlfriend at the same time.

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

-

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Hermione had been home for quite some time, "musing over what Harry had tried to drill into her mind." (Or, that's what she told herself, anyway, as she sat at the kitchen table staring alternately at Ron's "Big Book of British Smiles" and the clock in the corner.) He made sense – in a twisted, bizarre, sort of way – and Hermione had been almost willing to forgive her fiancé when he had shown up in his burst of deafening noise. Ron wielding a spatula as a conductor's baton was bad enough to begin with, but when the crowd of interested people poking their heads out of their shops began to stare openly at her, it was just too much. Didn't Ron realize that she had been embarrassed out of her mind? Didn't he know her well enough to guess that an amateur band ambushing her at work would _not_ be amusing?

No. Apparently he didn't. And _that_, she resolved, was why she wouldn't be forgiving him after the latest scheme.

Well, that and she refused to be in debt to Draco for helping her and Ron get back together. But really, that barely mattered.

Hermione yawned, and peered up at the time on the wall. Eight o'clock. Ron was probably just being released from the Muggle authorities; she felt a pang when she thought of how horrible it must have been for him: he wasn't very good at dealing with non-wizards.

"Well," she said huffily aloud, "That's just more of his own fault." And with a thump she closed Ron's book.

"And this is really the _stupidest_ book ever," was her afterthought.

There was a second thump, but nothing Hermione had done. "What in the world…?"

With a sigh, she crossed the kitchen and made her way across the living room. Another thump, and she pulled open the front door, scowling. "_What_-"

And she stopped. Quite abruptly. In fear.

Ronald Weasley was standing on the front lawn. Stark naked.

No, not really completely naked, she amended… more like, partly dressed – but still bare enough that several Muggles (and Sirius and Remus, she noted, mortified) were staring out their front windows, craning for a glance. The redhead wore socks he must have borrowed from Dobby (one was purple, the other white with tiny crimson hearts) and pink-checkered swimming shorts (_short_ pink-checkered swimming shorts). There was a sash across his pale chest with "Cupid" printed sloppily, and sparkly, shimmery deely-boppers in his hair.

But what made it worse was the quiver full of arrows strung across his back, and the bow he held, half-cocked, in his hands. Ron couldn't shoot to save his life.

It seemed that he didn't care for the way that he was dancing about, letting arrows fly. With each thump that meant an arrow had hit something solid Hermione would have winced, if at the moment she hadn't been so completely horrified as to be rendered immobile. He was singing, off-key, "He-e-ermy-o-KNEE… I lo-o-ve you…" and Hermione, after catching the bemused looks Remus and Sirius threw her way, threw her hands over her ears.

"Ron, what in hell _is_ this?"

Her outburst seemed to confuse him and he stopped his prancing immediately, causing an arrow to fly. It passed her temple with inches to spare and only succeeded in smashing the window nearest her right. Ron blushed purple to the roots of his hair.

"Erm… Number forty-four… Dress up as Cupid and shoot arrows at the front lawn, repeatedly?" he timidly supplied.

"It was insane, I told him not to do it, but he's unhinged, you can't blame him for losing his marbles, you know…" Harry whispered from the shadows.

Ron grinned. "And don't you feel the slightest bit pity for me, now that you've driven me mad?"

In response Hermione squealed, chucked the "Big Book of British Smiles" at his head, and turned on heel, stalking into the house and slamming the front door with such force that it was amazing it stayed on its hinges.

For a moment Ron didn't say anything; it was only after he heard sirens in the distance that began running down the street, his sash waving like a flag, muttering, "Oh shite, oh shite, what did I do now...?"

Harry could only call after him, "Indecent exposure!" while Sirius filled the night with manic laughter drifting from the window across the street.

-

"I need help."

"And I need material for my gallery opening. We all want something."

Ron scowled. He hated asking for help after he screwed up, and he hated it even more when he was forced to ask his younger sister's flamboyant, Harry-obsessed friend. Frankly, Colin Creevey scared Ron to no end, but he needed a photographer (namely, one who had been following Ron, Harry, and Hermione for years) badly – very badly… and he wasn't opposed to stooping low to get what he needed.

This was Hermione he was fighting for.

"Look…" Ron began, but the smaller boy popped a flashbulb in front of his face and grinned. Ron blinked at the blotches in front of his eyes for a minute, dazed.

"No, Ron, you look. I have a gallery showing in a week and I need some raw material. I need to get out there. I need to ravage nature, I need to _create_… I don't have time for favours just right now. Give me a month, maybe…."

Ron sighed. "It won't be a favour. I'll pay you. Whatever, name your price." Crossing his fingers, he continued, "A date with Ginny, lunch with Harry…." He hoped Colin would be coming up with some ideas of his own; he wasn't sure his sister or his best friend would agree to spend excessive amounts of time with Colin – even to get Ron back in Hermione's good graces.

Colin mused for a moment, one eye closed, glancing at Ron through his shutter. "Anything?"

"Anything."

"How about… your photos. Of your plan. Number fifty-three."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Sure. What for?"

"We-ell… I want to use them. For my gallery. They'll only displayed for a little while. Not many people will see them – maybe a couple hundred?"

Ron pictured his photos hanging up for the world to see and, quite possibly, laugh at. Oh well – there were worse things.

"Deal."

Colin clicked his camera once more. "_Excellent_."

-

Ron stood on the step to his own house, rapping repeatedly on the back door. At first he had planned on barging right in and dragging Hermione out to see his surprise but decided he'd have better luck if he feigned being polite for one afternoon. It was worth a try.

Seconds before the door opened, Ron glanced back at his and Colin's handiwork. Clotheslines were strung from tree to tree in a zigzagging path; from these lines hung 365 colour, moving pictures – "One for each day of the year, to show her how I think about her all the time," Ron had said to Colin as they set up the project. The first pictures were the oldest – when they were about thirteen or so, when Colin first came to school and started stalking the trio – and as they progressed they seemed to grow up before their eyes. Colin was going to creep along behind the pictures and planned to capture Hermione's expression every step of the way, and he had promised Ron he would be poised at the end, waiting to film Hermione's final actions, which would (with a little luck) be her snogging Ron.

He grinned just thinking about it. This idea was pure genius.

"Ron?" Hermione's face was contorted in confusion, and she stood with her hands by her sides, helpless. "You're wearing clothes."

He blushed and looked down at his jeans. "Well yea- Come on," he added, taking her hand and pulling her after him, "I've got something to show you."

She didn't put up much of a fight, he noted happily.

At first it seemed like things were working perfectly. Hermione gazed with awe at the first batch of pictures, grinning wistfully every so often. Ron tentatively put at arm around her shoulders and she didn't shrug him off. She was giggling. Colin caught all these happy moments with the push of a button.

And then it all disintegrated in front of Ron's eyes.

"What is _this_?"

"Um- er…."

In all his haste to put together the garden of photos, it seemed as if he had – albeit unknowingly – tacked up some photos of the tougher times: the two of them rowing, red in the face, in the common room; a cocky Ron teasing a less-than-pleased Hermione; Harry standing between the two looking helpless while they stood, arms crossed, not facing each other; and the list continued.

He had also slipped a few of himself and Lavender in – a mortal, very unplanned, mistake. The first couple were really harmless, and maybe he would have been able to salvage this if, in the last, Lavender had not been wearing very little and grinning seductively.

He grabbed this and quickly shredded it, but not before Hermione had glimpsed it, and, with a shock of finding an underlying meaning that wasn't there, gasped, "You see us as _dirty laundry_?"

"I- well, yes- I mean no! …that is to say, if you'd… if we'd – if I could have a…"

His stammering got him nowhere, and as Hermione advanced Colin continued clicking away, oblivious to the world.

Ron's plan didn't work out _quite_ the way he had planned, but Colin's "Photo-documentary of a Black Eye" was a hit with obscure artists from as far as Africa, and received rave reviews from Witch Weekly's "International Wizard of the Month", Viktor Krum.

-

Ron was running out of ideas, patience, time, money…he was just running out, period. It didn't look as if Hermione would be forgiving him anytime soon, he thought as he held a piece of steak to his throbbing eye; and he knew he couldn't let his American family freeload at Remus and Sirius's house forever.

On the table he piled the lint, chewed gum, paperclips, and various Muggle change he had rescued from in-between the couch cushions, and he sighed. There was only one thing left to be done. Desperate number eighty-seven.

He headed for a Muggle store around the corner and was back in five minutes with two boxes of coloured hopscotch chalk. Waving away all attempts of Sirius, Remus, and Harry to help, Ron wandered up and down the front of his house. Several cars stopped and caused a jam, but he didn't take notice; he just continued carefully printing a lopsided "I'M SORRY" in the middle of the street, big and clear enough to be seen from a jumbo jet thousands of feet above. And when he finally threw down his chalk stub and stood back at the curb, not smiling, red and purple and yellow streaks across his cheeks, hands in his pockets, the neighbours clearly thought him mad and sought a detour.

And it was no more than a quarter of an hour later when the rain came, but still all Ron could do was sit on the curbside, silent and still, and watch the stinging water wash his feelings away.

-

Harry watched his best friend sitting outside, red hair shining in the raindrop-studded twilight. The lamps from the house cast a faintly glowing pool on the front lawn, but Ron sat, just outside the perimeter, hands between his knees, knees up around his ears. It was cold, it was storming, and if Harry thought it would have done any good he would have gone outside hours ago to bring Ron inside. But he knew he wouldn't have come.

He was defeated, and Harry knew it. The windows in Ron and Hermione's house were dark, and there seemed to be no movement whatsoever behind the net curtains; Harry could see the black patch of Ron's eye, and he knew that was the end of it. Hermione wasn't going to forgive him, and that was that.

He made to turn around when a muffled shape caught his eye. The outline of bushy hair, a slight girl carrying a mackintosh. Two sad eyes in the darkness.

She moved behind the stooped boy on the curb and draped the coat over his shoulders. She was quiet, but Harry could still make out her faint words in the nighttime: "Come on Ron, it's cold. Come home."

"I'm sorry." The bent figure didn't move. It almost broke Harry's heart.

The girl just bent down beside him, spoke next to his ear. "Yeah. I know."

And Harry shut the drapes to block out the unmoving boy and the girl who was kneeling, hugging him from behind, chin on his shoulder, staring off into the heavy darkness. This wasn't something he was meant to witness, he thought with a smile.

-

With the now back-on-track wedding rapidly approaching, it was time for Ron and his ushers to do what they had been postponing for months - a veritable battalion of tuxedos needed to be purchased and/or rented for the ceremony. It was not a thrilling prospect; Ron could vividly recall the horror stories of Hermione's dress shopping. True, he was not taking Lavender or Parvati with him (he was sure the accompaniment of his ex-girlfriend would cause another enormous row between himself and his fiancée), but Sirius had insisted on coming, and he was just as bad.

So on a bright, sunny morning, Ron found himself trooping down a Muggle street joined by Harry, Sirius, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George. The rear was brought up by Mrs. Weasley and Remus, who had seemed as horrified as Ron at the thought of the others going shopping without any sort of supervision. Though the shopping district was a little far from Ron and Hermione's house, there was not a single vehicle, enchanted or otherwise (save perhaps a Army-regulation HumVee), that would hold such a large group - disregarding the Knight Bus, as none of them wished to shop after becoming violently carsick. After a half-hour walk, the rather large group came to a halt in front of Tuxedos 'R Us, bumping into one another and drawing the attention of every Muggle within fifty yards.

The shop owner looked up at the tinkle of the bells suspended above the door, an expectant smile on his face. The smile faded quickly and his eyes grew huge as he watched a flood of men, and one woman, enter his shop.

Harry approached the counter, flanked by Sirius and dragging Ron. "We can rent tuxedos here, right?" he asked without preamble.

The shopkeep blinked several times before remembering himself and stammering, "Y-yes. O- of course, s-sir."

"Shibby," Sirius sniggered as he and Harry thrust Ron forward. "Meet the groom."

Normally the shopkeep would have offered his congratulations before starting his sales pitch, but the unusually large group that had squeezed into his shop had thrown him off his stride. He merely nodded mutely and led Ron towards a rack of ultra-fancy tuxedos. "Now, what exactly are you looking for?" he inquired. "Would you like a grey suit, or perhaps a white dinner jacket with black trousers? All black? Vest or cummerbund? Will you be wearing a corsage?"

Ron took several hasty steps backward and looked to his mother and Harry for reassurance. "Uh... all black?"

Mrs. Weasley took out an enormous, embroidered hanky and blew her nose loudly, making the twins giggle.

The shopkeep prodded Ron onto a small stool and forced a tuxedo jacket on him. "Very good," he said, pulling out a huge pincushion shaped like a tomato and beginning to pin the sleeves to the right length. As he measured and pinned, some of his professional manner returned. "When is this illustrious occasion?"

"Er... next week. The twentieth."

"Excellent," the shopkeep said briskly, flourishing his tape measure. "And are some of these men in your wedding party?"

"Er... well..." Ron hated to tell the man, but it had to be done. "All of them are, actually. Well, except for Sirius and Remus."

"But I could use a Muggle suit," Remus piped up from the back of the group, where he was patting Mrs. Weasley reassuringly on the shoulder. She seemed to be fighting back tears. "So does Sirius." He shot the ex-convict a warning look, and Sirius dropped the brilliantly violet cummerbund he was trying on.

The shopkeep felt tears encroaching at this announcement, but resolved not to fall apart in front of his customers. If need be, he would call in all his holiday and weekend help. "Very good…."

Tired of watching Ron being measured and fitted, the others were milling around the shop (except for Mrs. Weasley, who had perched herself on a spindly chair and was crying for no good reason, and Remus, who was trying to comfort her). Fred and George were examining a display of multi-coloured bowties and sniggering (mostly at the sight of a bow tie so brightly pink it could probably be seen from space) while Bill studied a display of glittering cufflinks (he was clearly heard to remark, "Pfft. I brought back better stuff than this from Egypt."). Sirius had mysteriously disappeared in the sea of silk and polyester, something that should have worried Remus, had he taken the time to notice.

The whimpering from the corner was getting louder. Mrs. Weasley had her head on Remus's shoulder, soaking his shabby jumper clear through. Remus was murmuring softly to her.

"Now, Molly, hush... I don't know what's gotten into you, you've been crying like this all day, if you keep carrying on like this you'll dry up... what's wrong?"

"My baby's getting m-married!" Mrs. Weasley bawled loudly, making Remus wince, and she broke into a fresh storm of weeping. This incited a round of giggles from the twins, and Ron flushed deepest maroon from where he stood on the stool.

"Mum!-"

Fred held a maroon bow tie up to Ron's neck and sniggered. "Matches perfectly there, little bro. You should get this one."

Ron smacked Fred's hand away, making the bow tie fall to the floor and the pins to fall out of his sleeve; the shopkeep gave the two redheads a disgusted look and made a "hhhrumph" noise deep in his throat as he scrambled to pick up the pins lest one become lost in the deep-pile carpeting. Mrs. Weasley continued to sob; her hanky was dripping and she had to utilize Remus's for her purpose instead. The former professor had his arm around her shoulders, still valiantly trying to soothe her; Bill hurried over to help.

"Ow! Watch where you're sticking those!" Ron snapped at the impatient shopkeep, who withdrew the pin and inserted it in the sleeve correctly.

Mrs. Weasley had now finished drenching Remus's hanky and had moved on to Bill's; Remus looked positively relieved as Bill took his mother in his arms and assumed the role of comforter. "My baby, my little Ronnikins..." Mrs. Weasley wailed, before burying her face in Bill's shirt. "First he went out on dates, and now he's getting married and soon I'll be a g-grandmother!"

Fred sniggered and poked his brother in the side. "Oh-h, Ronnie – you're gonna have ba-bies…" he continued in a singsong voice.

Ron, looking positively revolted, his face an interesting shade of puce, toppled backwards off his stool as the shopkeep stamped his foot and whacked the groom with his tape measure. "B-b… _babies_?" Ron stammered. "N-noo… nonono…."

Bill glared at Ron, then patted his mother. "Mum, you're _already_ a grandmother…."

"That isn't the _point_!"

Remus backed away to stand beside Percy, who was looking supremely annoyed as he watched his brothers poke around the shop.

Remus noticed that Sirius was milling around some of the less formal suits, and called out to him. "Love, did you find anything for us to wear?"

"Did I find anything for us to wear? Did I find anything for us to wear? Remmie, I've just dressed the entire wedding party!" Sirius said proudly. He sauntered over to the others, carrying what looked to Remus like a multicoloured parachute or perhaps a large pile of rejected clown costumes. "Ta-Da!" He whisked the first suit off the pile and held it up for them to admire.

Ron turned from puce to pale green in three seconds; Charlie wrinkled his nose, Harry blinked rapidly, Seamus gagged, and the twins snorted with laughter.

Sirius was holding up what had to be the ugliest leisure suit in existence. Talk about reject-70's disco suits; this looked like a leftover from Saturday Night Fever. It had lapels wide enough to classify as wings, and bellbottoms so huge they would have completely hidden the wearer's feet. Garish gold buttons embossed with crowns decorated the front of the jacket, and purple flames crept up from the cuffs, reaching elbow- and knee- length before petering out.

But worst of all, the suit itself was so blindingly, hideously green that it actually hurt one's eyes to look at it for more than a few seconds at a time. Harry reflected it was something like a solar eclipse; look at it too long and the image would be burned into your retinas until the end of time.

Even Mrs. Weasley was struck into silence by the ugly suit. Finally, Remus gathered the courage to speak. "Sirius... you didn't think any of us would actually... wear... that thing, did you?"

His mate deflated. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's hideous," Bill said.

"Abominable," Percy agreed.

"Disgusting," the twins chorused.

"Monstrous," Dean admitted.

"Despicable," Seamus muttered.

"Putrid," Neville squeaked.

"Hermione would kill us," Ron said from the floor, visibly twitching.

"Malodorous," Mrs. Weasley sniffled.

"Positively foul," Remus said sadly.

"I've seen better suits on Nashville country singers," Charlie said flatly.

"My eyes!" Harry wailed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face vigorously.

Sirius sighed, and looked over at the shopkeep, who had frozen in the act of pinning up the hem of Ron's trousers (having finally forced the redhead to stand up straight, courtesy of a few good jabs with a stickpin). The man looked completely ashamed that this terrible green monstrosity of polyester and rayon had ever set foot - leg? - in his shop. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he admitted grudgingly, returning the offending suit to the rack. "Do you want to see what else I found?"

A loud chorus of "No!"s echoed throughout the shop. Sirius scowled.

"Well I-"

But Sirius was cut off as Mrs. Weasley again resumed her deafening crying, and started to sulk. Bill, in the meantime, stepped back from his mother and, eyeing the room at large, cleared his throat. "Who's next?"

Fred (much to Remus's renewed relief) pulled himself away from the scissors fight he was having with George, while his twin slunk away into the "90 CLEARANCE" section of the store. "Mum, come on, this is nothing much to cry about… I mean, sure Ron's a little stupid and clone-babies of his would be tremendously horrible, but chances are Hermione's genes will intertwine and they'll come out perfectly okay! It's not like Ginny and Seamus are breeding or anything…."

"Hey!" Seamus called out from where he and Dean were being fitted (Harry having finally made the decision on suits similar to Ron's, with dark green cummerbunds) by two very nervous-looking teenagers. "I resemble that remark!"

Dean poked him, hard. "Resent, mate. You resent it," he muttered.

"Damn straight I do!"

The darker boy rolled his eyes and stepped down from his platform, having been unusually cooperative. "Stoll's free!" he called. "You're welcome to it, George… George?"

No answer. Dean peered around the shop and started counting heads: Sirius was off sulking in a very dark corner, Remus on his knee (Dean averted his gaze quickly); Fred was holding his mother, Harry kneeling next to him, while Mrs. Weasley alternately snorted and burst into fresh tears; Seamus was having a loud conversation with Ron, who was across the room (as both boys had taken to agitated fidgeting, their fittings were taking a lot longer than anyone else's). Percy was standing off to one side with a disapproving frown, and Neville and Bill were chatting about something while waiting for their turns.

George, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Dean sauntered up to Charlie, who was staring at Ron's attendant when a bemused half-smile. "Ten galleons that bloke blows within the quarter-hour, mate," Charlie said as he caught Dean out of the corner of his eye.

"I- wha?"

"Ten galleons. On that one over there." He gesticulated. "Ron's a right bother, and you can't tell me the shopkeep will put up with it much longer." And Dean noticed that, indeed, the little man stooped in front of Ron had been growing steadily redder as the minutes passed. He grinned.

"All right, you're on. But Charlie… Haven't you seen George around here anyplace? I told him he'd be after me for fitting, but it seems…." He trailed off.

Charlie scanned the shop and frowned. "You're right… Better go find him before he does something to get us all chucked." With that remark, the second-eldest Weasley stood, and he and Dean went circling the store.

At first it didn't seem like anything was amiss. Seamus, who had finally settled enough to be fitted, had traded place with Neville and was now trying on various pieces of suits with Bill. "Ohhh, hotpants! These are…" and, with a quick look at what Sirius was wearing, finished weakly, "Groovy?" Dean stifled a grin but Charlie just kept going straight.

Into the depths of the store they went. Past the expensive suits… past the moderate… past the cheap… and past the ugly. Past the plaid and past the satin, past the specialty models that Dean tried not to dwell on (especially the leather one with matching cheetah-print whip). Past the – everything. And then they started back.

"It's quiet… almost too quiet," Charlie remarked, and no sooner had he closed his mouth than the two boys heard a muffled crying from within a rack.

They shared a glance, and, glancing furtively, Charlie pulled out his wand and quickly pushed aside a plethora of hideous wedding wear. He stifled a scream but Dean couldn't help letting out a feminine shriek, and in another moment both were halfway back to the rest of the party.

"He-elp me-e-e!" George tried to yell after them. He hadn't meant to scare them with this suit, he honestly hadn't! It had seemed like a good idea at the time, all red leather and tight blue spandex, but one of the plate-sized buttons had poked him in the eye, and then the fishnet "sleeves" had pinned his arms to his chest, and the whole thing was so tight that he really, really couldn't breath, so he _needed_ help! Desperately! They _couldn't_ leave him!

And with that George started after Charlie and Dean, hopping as fast as he could. Unfortunately for him the bottom of the trench coat-like suit jacket contained an alarming amount of ruffles and lace, and he had never been much of a hopper anyway; the lace caught his shoe, and he felt himself falling.

He almost landed flat on his face and broke his nose – almost, but not quite. Instead, the spandex had ridden up so much that he unintentionally bent over, and turned a perfect somersault – and another, and another, until he was veritably whizzing down the center aisle in a ball.

Charlie and Dean had nowhere to run. They glanced back wildly, dove into the sea of surrounding suits, and held out hands to stop George; he rolled over them, and continued in his path. It wasn't fair! Why did the stupid shop have to be on a tilt? Why did he have to be tempted by the Ugliest Suit Ever? Why-?

But he barely had time to register the fact that yes, he was thinking, before he met Ron's stool with an unpleasant "thud". His brother toppled upon him as the rest of his family and friends congregated in a surprised circle. Molly stopped crying, and for a minute no one said anything.

Then Charlie and Dean came running, tripping over the redheads on the floor, and plowed headfirst into Bill and Neville. Ron rolled off of George and lay, sprawled, by Remus's feet, sobbing, "The pins, they hurt, they hu-u-urt…!"

George rasped an undignified, "Help me!" and Fred dove to save his twin from the throes of death – er – ugliness. Cries of "George! George, are you alive?" were mixed with "God Fred, watch the polyester, it itches right… down… _there_!" and "I think I just swallowed a sequin!" Charlie glanced at Dean, who was propped on his side, and confirmed, "Ten galleons, mate?"

But it wasn't the shopkeep who exploded. Percy Weasley, standing alone on the sidelines, suddenly burst, "This is unacceptable! Terrible! Detestable! I cannot believe you are all acting this way! Like children! Little, tiny children! Get up, get on those stools – no Bill don't cross me or I will hex you into oblivion – put on your suits – Ron, stop _moving_ or I will jab you with something much sharper than a pin – and for goodness sakes, pull yourselves together!"

The room was stunned into silence – even, momentarily, Mrs. Weasley. The Muggles clearly thought Percy insane, but the rest of the lot sensed his breaking point, and, solemnly, they lined up at the various stools, kept their mouths shut, and let the fittings go as planned, not uttering a complaint no matter _where_ they were poked or prodded. And they remained that way – all except Mrs. Weasley, who was now tittering as though in shock – "And someday Ron will be planning the wedding for his children, and he'll have to common sense to comfort Hermione when she starts bawling her own eyes out at the thought of the _future_…!"

Forty-five minutes later each and every Weasley, Thomas, Finnegan, Longbottom, Black, and Lupin filed out of the shop wearing a dress suit – or, in the case of Mrs. Weasley, clutching a stack of brand-new hankies.

Dean propelled himself to walk next to Charlie. "So… you owe me ten Galleons, huh?"

"Maybe not." he pointed at the seat of Ron's pants. "Ten and double that there won't be a wedding after Hermione sees that Ron forgot to make sure the middle seam was sewed."

Dean sniggered and shook Charlie's hand. "You're on."

-

_Upcoming Attractions…._

**Ch/9: Get Me To The Church On Time **– And it's finally time for the bride and groom to tie the knot! But what will the wedding still go on when Hermione gets wedding-day jitters andRon forgets the name of the church…?


End file.
